Hermione Granger and the Magic Mirror
by poetintraining576
Summary: When Hermione falls through a magic mirror and travels to 18th century France, she faces an unwanted proposal, an angry beast, and a confusing curse. Belle, in modern-day England, discovers Floo powder, a haughty blonde, and a cursed necklace. And both women will find an answer to the age-old question: Who could ever learn to love a beast? Over 21,000 hits and 90 faves. ON HIATUS.
1. Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

_**Disclaimer:** I will only say this once – I hope that suffices. I do not own Harry Potter or Beauty and the Beast; they belong to J.K. Rowling and Disney respectively. I am not making any profit off this story nor do I intend to infringe upon any copyrights. Also, this fan-fiction is inspired by Lost in Disney written by CardCaptorSakura16.

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_**Summary:** Voldemort is gone and life has returned to normal, until one day, Hermione Granger discovers a magical mirror that transports her into eighteenth century France. Through the same mirror, Belle travels to modern-day England, to discover that magic really does exist. As Hermione deals with an undesirable proposal, and an even more undesirable suitor, she reveals to the Muggle community that she is a witch and flees to a dark castle where she encounters an enchantment so powerful that even she, Hermione Granger, may not be able to find the counter-spell. Meanwhile in England, Belle begins to fall in love, and she must decide between homeland and love, magic and normalcy, excitement and the mundane._

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1. Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Hermione sighed. Once again, Harry and Ron were bickering and she did not have the patience to listen to their argument. Although they had defeated Lord Voldemort nearly two years ago, and the wizarding world of England had more or less returned to normal, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley still had occasional spats. Ron was moving in with Harry at 12 Grimmauld Place, the vacant house of Harry's godfather, and they were debating where the Chudley Cannons poster Ron had brought from The Burrow should go. Naturally, Ron wanted the poster right at the entrance to the hall, but Harry wanted it located in Ron's bedroom… and on the walls with a Muggle substance called tape rather than having Ron use a Permanent Sticking Charm. Ron was confused more than outraged, but since he didn't understand what Harry wanted, Harry had lost his temper and now the two were in an arguing match loud enough for all of London to hear. Hermione shook her head in exasperation as the disagreement increased in pitch and volume, and in her frustration, she stormed upstairs.

Muttering to herself, Hermione continued up the grey stairs until the argument faded into a muffled sound. Hermione sighed, pleased with herself at distancing herself from the noise (and saving herself a headache in the process) and paused at the landing. She hadn't paid attention to where she was going, and now, she realized, she was at a part of the house she had never seen before. Although Ron, Harry, and she had all stayed here during what was supposed to be their final year at Hogwarts and during the days of the Order of the Phoenix, they had never explored much of the upper stories of the decrepit house. A tad uneasy but very curious, Hermione turned to the right where a full-length mirror stood against the wall. She narrowed her eyes slightly as she inspected the mirror, covered with a thick film of dust. Apparently, it had gone unnoticed for many years, even decades.

"Well, I might as well help Harry out and clean the mirror off," she muttered. The young witch pressed her lips together, tore a large strip of cloth off her old work robe, and began rubbing the oval face of the mirror. Once she had dusted the entire thing off, she tilted her head to the side in surprise. Although Hermione was accustomed to magic, she hadn't expected the mirror to reflect not the grey-blue interior of 12 Grimmauld Place, but instead, a cheery warm brown room. As she looked closer, she realized her reflection was nowhere in sight either.

"How very curious," Hermione murmured in awe as she poked at the mirror with her wand and examined it. Belatedly, Hermione realized she could have cast a cleaning charm on the mirror and saved herself some work. _Well_, Hermione thought wryly, _some Muggle habits really do die hard_. As she continued to examine the mirror and tested spells on it, a flash of movement crossed the mirror. Startled, Hermione looked forward and saw a young girl in a blue dress, about her age, enter the room and place a stack of books on the bed. From the back, she resembled Hermione to a large degree: they were the same height and both had long, wavy brown hair, though Hermione's appeared bushier. However, Hermione didn't have much time to consider the oddity of their physical similarity, for just then, the girl turned and faced the mirror and appeared to gasp. The girl made no sound, or perhaps the mirror couldn't relay sound, but Hermione understood the girl's troubled look, and she was fairly certain her own countenance conveyed a similar expression.

The girl in the mirror frowned and began tapping at the mirror, and it seemed solid to her touch. The lips of the girl in the blue dress began moving quickly and Hermione leaned close to the mirror to hear what she said. The surface of the glass appeared to be swirling fluidly, and it reminded Hermione of water. Approaching the glass with her ear, she lost her balance and tumbled through the frame.

After a minute of shock, Hermione opened her eyes and looked around. She was sitting on a light wooden floor across the room from a small, tidy bed and round window. Blinking in the sunlight, Hermione saw that the girl in the blue dress was kneeling over her, examining her with a puzzled and slightly terrified expression.

"Who are you?" the girl asked, and it took Hermione a moment to realize the stranger was speaking in French. Thanks to her family's summer holidays spent in France, Hermione was proficient in the language, if a trifle rusty.

"_Je m'appelle Hermione_," the girl replied. "_Excusez-moi_, but do you speak English?"

The girl shook her head. "_Non_, I only speak a little. I assume then, that you're English, _oui_?"

Hermione nodded as she dusted herself off. "_Oui_. That's okay though; we can speak in French." She smiled, stood up, and extended her hand to the French woman. "It's nice to meet you… Mademoiselle…"

"Belle," the young woman supplied as she shook Hermione's hand. "To be honest, I've never had more of a shock than seeing you at the mirror. As long as I can remember, I've only faintly seen my reflection, and usually I saw a wall of dark grey. I never expected to see someone else on the other side."

Hermione chuckled. "Our side of the mirror was coated in a thick layer of dust – that's probably why you couldn't see anything." Hermione paused a moment and her eyebrows knitted together. "I wonder why you didn't come through the mirror when you were tapping the glass if I fell right through."

Shrugging, Belle answered, "I don't really know, but _somehow_ you managed to come through the glass, almost by magic or something." She pulled at her hair, thinking in depth about the situation.

Hermione smirked at Belle. "Well," she said casually, "I _am_ a witch." Her eyes glittered with mirth; the situation was rather humorous.

Belle's eyes widened, mistaking the amusement in Hermione's eyes for a sinister danger, and she retreated backwards in fright. "You… you're a witch?" she asked nervously. Images of cackling old ladies with warts selling herbs filled her imagination. At Hermione's sharp nod, Belle gasped and stumbled backwards again – this time right through the frame of the mirror. After she fell through the glass, Belle jumped up and pushed hard against the glass, trying to go through, but the glass remained solid at her touch. Alone in a strange world and more than a little confused, Belle sat down on the grey wooden floor, tears trailing down her cheeks.

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After nearly an hour into their argument, Ron and Harry noticed Hermione's absence. At first, they paid it no mind; she probably went into a spare room to read, but when she didn't storm down and yell at them to shut up after thirty more minutes of yelling, Harry and Ron grew concerned. Normally, Harry would ask Kreacher to find Hermione, but the elf was away running errands, so the two boys decided to put their discussion aside – temporarily – and search the old house for their friend before the light filtering in through the windows vanished.

Harry and Ron soon realized that the house was much larger than either of them had thought. They spent over an hour searching the dwelling before they stood atop a three-story staircase, staring at a young woman in a blue dress. In the dim light, Harry mistook the woman for Hermione and called out to her. The girl turned suddenly, her eyes wide, and she backed up against the wall, clutching her knees.

"Mate, that's not Hermione," Ron whispered into Harry's ear.

"I already figured that out, thanks," Harry muttered. He clutched his wand instinctively and climbed the last two steps before approaching the strange girl.

"It's all right," Harry said, in a gentler voice. "I'm not going to harm you; I just want to know what you're doing in my house." The girl's hazel eyes grew wider, and Harry saw they were brimming with tears. He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck in frustration and tried again.

"Hello, I'm Harry… and this is Ron. Who are you and what are you doing here?" he asked.

The girl tilted her head to the side, and Harry finally realized that she didn't comprehend what he was saying. He cursed silently and gave Ron a pleading look. "I don't think she understands me. What do we do now?"

Ron thought for a moment, tapping his chin. "I dunno, Harry, but she might know where Hermione is, so we can't turn her out. Maybe she can stay in a guest room for now." Harry and Ron slept in a room on the second floor; besides the rooms that belonged to Regulus and Sirius on the fourth floor, 12 Grimmauld Place had several other bedrooms.

His best mate had a point, so Harry nodded grimly. "She'll have to, I guess. I'm really worried about Hermione though – who knows what could have happened to her?"

"Hermione?" the girl asked. Both Harry and Ron looked at the girl, who had now stood up. "_Hermione a traversé le miroir_." She pointed to the mirror, and Harry and Ron stared at each other with confused expressions.

"What'd she say, mate?"

"Dunno," Harry replied, scratching the back of his neck. Glancing at the girl, he said to Ron, "Let's take her downstairs. She'll be more comfortable there." In agreement, the two approached the visitor a little more closely. Then, pointing down the stairs, the two boys began walking, and Harry beckoned the girl to follow. Hesitantly, she began walking towards the top of the staircase.

"_Qu'en est-il Hermione_?" the girl asked Harry, pointing again towards the mirror. A bewildered expression crossed the wizard's face, and his neck was now scarlet from where he had rubbed it. Ron continued downstairs, oblivious to the change in Harry's movement. A dim light flashed in the back of his memory, and he remembered Hermione speaking similar words after her family's trip to… France. A look of understanding and relief crossed his face, and he tried out one of the few French words he knew.

"Erm… bonjour?"

The girl turned her head immediately towards him, and a look of recognition crossed her face. She smiled and replied, "'Ello, monsieur."

Harry grinned in response, glad to have some understanding with the girl. "I'm Harry." He extended his hand towards the girl, and she stared at it for a moment.

"And I eez Belle," she answered with a speck of hesitation in her thick French accent. She took Harry's hand and shook it, as English custom dictated.

"Well, Belle," Harry said, "Let's go downstairs and eat." He pointed down the stairs and mimed shoveling food into his mouth. He thought a moment, "Uh, oui?"

Belle nodded in understanding, her brunette ponytail bobbing up and down as she said, "_Oui, monsieur_. We… eet?" she asked, waiting for his affirmation that these were the right words.

He smiled and said, "Yes, we eat." Then gesturing for Belle to go down the large flight of stairs, he followed behind her, a grin of pride numbing the edges of his concern for Hermione. Once the girl knew more English, she would be able to tell them what had happened to their friend, but for now, he would make sure that she was comfortable at 12 Grimmauld Place and she would be their guest.

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**FRENCH: **

_Hermione a traversé le miroir = Hermione went through the mirror_

_Qu'en est-il Hermione? = What about Hermione?_

Please note that these are all from Google translator. If I've made in error in translation, please let me know. Thanks. :)_  
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	2. A Most Peculiar Mademoiselle

2. A Most Peculiar Mademoiselle

Hermione sank to the floor in dismay. She had been examining the mirror for the last half-hour, and even resulted to pounding on it when she saw Harry and Ron on the landing in an attempt to get their attention. Unfortunately, they hadn't seen her, and if Belle had tried to push her way through and failed – Hermione reasoned – then she had no doubt that she would fail too. Trying to remember what she had been doing when she had fallen through the mirror, Hermione scrunched up her face and squatted by the mirror. She had tried to hear what Belle had been saying, and then she leaned over into the mirror, falling out on the other side. It was worth a try. Determined, Hermione rocked onto her heels and leaned towards the side, falling towards the base of the mirror. As she approached, Hermione grew frightened by how solid the glass looked and closed her eyes. Sure enough, she heard a dull thud and felt her body press into the glass. _Well_, Hermione thought, trying not to cry in frustration, _I guess I'll try again later_. It was pathetic how just a few minutes could change her afternoon so drastically.

"If I'm going to be living here for the time being," Hermione said, "I might as well get some clothes on that won't be as heavy as my robes." Carefully, Hermione removed her charcoal cotton work robes, still wearing jeans cut-offs and a pink tank top. She laid the robes on the bed and opened the armoire to the right of the mirror. Inside were simple dresses in a variety of hues. A few were obviously work dresses – made from cheap calico and adorned with patches, most of them were identical to Belle's blue dress – varying only in color, and the last dress was a modest party dress, emerald green with a square neckline and a few ruffles. None of the dresses was particularly stylish, but that suited Hermione just fine. Hermione selected a forest-green dress similar to Belle's and put it on, pulled her hair into a high ponytail with a matching ribbon, tied an apron around her waist, and looked for a mirror where she could examine her appearance. Finding none in Belle's room (the mirror that had brought her here only showed the inside of 12 Grimmauld Place after all), she traipsed down the stairs into a small living room. To her right was a small vanity, and beyond that stood a modest dining table. A bookcase stood against the opposite wall, but to Hermione's dismay, most of the shelves were empty. Sighing, Hermione turned to the vanity and examined her appearance.

"Why, Belle! Don't you look pretty in that green dress," a phlegmy voice behind her said in French, "Spin around for me so I can see." Hermione twisted around slowly, fear freezing her to the spot. In front of her stood a stocky man, his white hair telling of his age. Hermione's eyes widened and she swore under her breath; she left her wand in her robes upstairs.

"Monsieur, I'm sorry to intrude," Hermione told the man in French. "I'll be going so I don't bother you." Before she had gone back up the stairs, the man stopped her by placing a hand on her forearm.

"_Non_, I'd like to hear what you're doing in my house and wearing one of Belle's dresses no less, if you don't mind." His dark brown eyes, which had been friendly when he thought Hermione had been Belle, were now flat and slightly menacing. Although Hermione towered over him by at least six inches (which was unusual since she was only five and a half feet tall), she nodded and sat down quietly on the sofa. She felt the blood drain from her face.

"Well, monsieur," Hermione began, twisting her hands in her lap, "my story sounds unbelievable, but I promise it's true." She gave the man a nervous smile and continued, "This afternoon I was at my friend Harry's house and I saw a mirror. After I cleaned it, I saw that it showed not the inside of Harry's home, but the inside of yours. Somehow, I crossed through to this side of the mirror, Belle through to the other side, and neither of us knows how to return to our own world. Since I figured I might be here a while, I thought I should blend in."

The man stroked his chin and looked at the girl across from him. "That's rather difficult to believe, don't you agree, mademoiselle? If you don't mind, I'd like you to show me this mirror you found."

"_Oui, monsieur_. It is your house after all." Hermione stood up and walked up the stairs, the master of the house right behind her. Once they were both inside Belle's bedroom, Hermione pointed out the oval mirror, and the man rushed to it. He began murmuring excitedly, tapping the glass and examining it closely. After a few moments, he turned towards Hermione with a genuine and friendly smile.

"I see now that your story was true, and until you discover a way to return to your world, I'd like you to stay as a guest." A look of sorrow crossed his features, and he hung his head. "I hope that your friends take care of my daughter, and it's the least I can do in return." He brightened up a little, though he still seemed weary, worn out by the knowledge that his daughter was in a strange land.

In comfort, Hermione placed a hand on his arm. "_Merci, monsieur_. I appreciate your kindness very much, but I'm not a charity case; therefore, while I'm here, I'd like to help in any way I can as repayment."

"Very well, you may do Belle's chores. She usually takes care of any cooking and cleaning, and she feeds the chickens and our horse, Philippe." He looked at Hermione with a frown. "I don't think you told me your name, my dear."

"Hermione, monsieur."

He smiled again. "Please call me Maurice." He narrowed his eyes, deep in thought, and then surveyed her critically. "People will begin to wonder what you're doing here, Hermione, so I think it's best that we tell everyone you're my niece visiting from London – that will explain your accent. You and Belle look enough alike that no one in town will question that you're cousins."

Nervous, Hermione bit her lip. "Won't someone notice Belle's disappearance?" She didn't want anyone to start asking her questions about the missing girl, especially if she didn't know how to respond to their curiosity.

Maurice shook his head after a moment. "Belle doesn't socialize in town much. She keeps to herself, reading most of the time. If people do say anything about her absence, tell them that she's visiting some old friends near Paris. At Hermione's confusion, he added, "That's close to where we used to live."

"I see." Hermione processed this for a moment – she would pretend to be Belle's cousin from London, and if someone questioned Belle's whereabouts, she would explain that her 'cousin' was visiting old friends in her hometown. It seemed simple enough to her, and if other problems arose, she would deal with them as they occurred. She would tuck her wand into the folds of her dress in the event that she needed a form of defense, and she would continue her attempts to get home. After barely a minute of reviewing her role, Hermione nodded to Maurice. "Right then, I think I can do this, mons–" A sheepish smile crossed her lips as rouge tinged her cheeks. "I mean, Oncle Maurice."

Maurice nodded in approval, and then took his leave as it was getting dark, and Hermione needed to get ready for bed. They agreed to meet in the morning to check that they had their stories synced, and Maurice would explain Belle's chores in more detail so that Hermione knew what to expect. With a gentle wave, Hermione bid him good night, shutting the door as he left. She flopped back onto Belle's small bed, and in the dim light found her wand, clutching it tight to her. The final connection she had with her world and its magic besides the mirror, Hermione clasped her wand to her chest and fell into an uneasy sleep.


	3. A Whole New World

3. A Whole New World

The next morning, Belle woke up to bright sunshine filtering in through the window. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and when she did, she quelled her hopeful smile; she was not in Molyneux, her hometown, but rather, she was in this large, dank, grey house so at odds with the cottage she shared with her father. Harry had been kind to allow her to stay here, she knew, and she appreciated his generosity – she told him 'merci' many times the previous evening, but she didn't feel quite comfortable in this strange land.

It served her right for wanting an adventure, Belle thought solemnly. If she had only appreciated the comfortable, if provincial, life she had with her father in France, maybe this wouldn't have happened. She would be reading a new fairytale, preparing for her daily visit to the market and the bookseller's shop, telling her father about her book, listening to him talk about his inventions, and she would run into Gaston. Revolted, Belle made a face, almost gagging at the thought of the brutish man. He was one person she did _not_ miss in the slightest.

Gaston Veneur, a popular young hunter in Molyneux, had been pursuing Belle for the last several months. In fact, shortly after she and her father had moved to town nearly a year ago, he began demanding that she come see his trophies with him, and he told her that she shouldn't read since it filled her head with crazy ideas. Belle coolly evaded his advances, subtly calling him moronic, brutish, and old-fashioned on several occasions. Unfortunately, Gaston was too stupid and pig-headed to understand her hints, and his obsession with Belle only continued to escalate. Gaston still chased Belle around town; hinting that he would propose soon. If Belle had avoided that catastrophe by coming through the mirror, then her stay was more than well spent, she decided.

Pushing thoughts of Gaston out of her head, Belle stretched and sat up. Harry didn't own any women's nightclothes, unfortunately for Belle, so she had simply slept in her underwear. Pulling on her blue dress again, Belle examined her hair with an exasperated sigh. She had no brush for it, so she didn't want to put it back into a ponytail this morning. Quirking her bright pink lips to the side, Belle fluffed her wavy brown hair and stepped out of her room to greet her hosts.

"_Bonjour_, 'Arry," Belle greeted with a wave. Harry smiled tiredly, but his emerald green eyes lit up, and their beauty stunned Belle. She felt slight warmth fill her, and she blushed imperceptibly. He was so handsome, she thought.

"Hello, Belle." He paused awkwardly, before continuing slowly. "Did you sleep well?" He rested the side of his head against his hands. "I'm sorry that I don't speak French," he mumbled, but Belle heard, and oddly understood what he said.

"Eez… good," she replied to his statement with a smile. "_J'ai besoin d'apprendre plus d'anglais de toute façon_." Belle noticed Harry's look of confusion, so she tried again. The language barrier was becoming quite the problem it seemed. "_Je_," Belle pointed to herself, "_apprendre l'anglais de votre part_." She pointed to Harry, and said everything slowly.

"You want to learn English?" he asked after spending a moment with his brow furrowed in concentration. "L'anglais… is that English?" He mumbled a few things to himself before speaking more with Belle. "Erm… if you want to learn '_l'anglais_,' I will teach you." Belle didn't appear to understand, so he tried again, vainly racking his brain for all the French he knew. "I teach you l'anglais, oui?" Harry pointed to himself, and then to Belle; pointing would be a huge part of their communication, he realized.

With a large grin, Belle replied, "_Oui_. Merci, Monsieur 'Arry."

"Erm, you're welcome, Belle." Harry glanced at a nearby clock. "Bloody hell… I have to get ready for work, Belle, or I'll be late. Ron isn't scheduled at the Auror office, and I reckon George can manage at the joke shop without him for a day, so he can entertain you." Apologetically, he waved and dashed up the stairs to finish his morning routine.

Having nothing to do, Belle sat down on a nearby sofa and began to think. She liked it here, and while she missed her papa, she knew Hermione would keep him company while she was gone. It was far more interesting here than it was in Molyneux – she would learn a new language, experience a new culture, and then there was Harry. Belle smiled widely, thinking of him. Already she could see that he was generous and kind, and she liked that about him. He was far better than Gaston at any rate, Belle decided, wrinkling her nose with disgust.

Belle also realized that Hermione was bound to find a way to travel back through the mirror, and she didn't want to leave yet, but she didn't want her Papa to be alone. Perhaps she could convince Hermione to stay in Molyneux for a while; Belle would attach a note to the mirror so that Hermione could read it, and maybe Hermione would be willing to stay on the other side of the mirror for a few weeks. She jumped up from the sofa and began her search for paper and a pen. In a bedroom, she found a piece of parchment, a quill, and even some sticky substance on a desk. Quickly, she wrote her message and attached it to the glass of the mirror upstairs (after a couple of attempts fumbling with the adhesive), hoping Hermione would find the note and cooperate.

As she skipped downstairs to return the materials she found, she bumped into a tall man. She recognized him from the evening before, and he began to speak rapidly in English. Of course, Belle didn't understand a word that he said, so she simply shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. After a few minutes, the red-haired man ran a large hand through his flaming hair, and Belle could tell he was frustrated.

"_Je suis désolé_," Belle told him, placing a comforting hand on his arm, "_Je ne parle pas l'anglais_." She began walking downstairs to return the items when she felt a strong pull on her wrist.

"Harry told me to look after you. Where I go, you go," Ron said stubbornly. "I need to get something from the attic." Belle stared at him blankly, and attempted to go down the stairs, but again, the man was pulling on her wrist. With a sigh, and a withering look, she obliged him and followed him to the attic. In fact, she followed him around all morning, and it was only after an hour or two that she was finally able to return the writing materials. She discovered the man's name was Ronald Weasley, called Ron, and he was Harry's best friend. Once he had realized that Belle didn't understand him when he talked fast, he began shouting painfully slow. Belle found him annoying and was glad when he finally let her out of his sight.

"_Mon dieu! Ce garçon sera la mort de moi, car il est si odieux_." Belle was in the restroom, examining her appearance. Lines graced her forehead from all the incredulous looks she had given Ron earlier that morning, and she put her face in her hands and shook her head in exasperation. She much preferred Harry to Ron, she decided. Harry was handsome, generous, kind, and patient, while Ron was irritating, stupid, presumptuous, and ill mannered. In fact, Ron reminded her so much of Gaston, though truth be told, Belle could stand Ron more than she could Gaston. At least Ron didn't take away her book when Belle had sat down to read, and he wasn't trying to win her over, so his idiocy was unintentional and harmless. At these thoughts of Gaston, Belle's mouth quirked up in a wry smile; she wondered how Hermione fared in Molyneux with the hunter.

* * *

**FRENCH:**

_J'ai besoin d'apprendre plus d'anglais de toute façon = I need to learn more English anyway._

_Je __apprendre l'anglais de votre part = I will learn English from you._

_Je suis désolé, Je ne parle pas l'anglais = I'm sorry, I don't speak English._

_Mon dieu! Ce garçon sera la mort de moi, car il est si odieux* = My goodness! This boy will be the death of me, for he is so annoying. _

*Google said it was heinous. Either way, I guess. :)

_**BY THE WAY... REVIEWS WOULD MAKE ME VERY HAPPY! **  
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	4. A Tall, Dark, Strong and Handsome Brute

4. Such a Tall, Dark, Strong, and Handsome Brute

Hermione groaned as sunlight filtered through the round window, waking her up. Memory of the previous day came flooding back to her, and she rolled over on to her side and stared around the room. With a sigh, she pulled herself out of bed, tucked in the covers neatly, and dressed for the day. She chose a crimson dress identical to the one Belle had worn the other day and tied a matching bow in her hair. Then she headed outdoors to do Belle's morning chores.

After she had fed the chickens, Philippe, and Maurice, Hermione came back up to the bedroom to grab her wand. As she did so, she noticed a small piece of paper attached to the oval mirror she had come through yesterday. Frowning, she walked over to read the note. Translated, it said:

_Dear Hermione,_

_ I know you want to come home soon, and that you will figure a way to come back through the mirror. I beg of you, please stay in Molyneux for a few weeks; I would like to stay in your England for a while since I may never have the opportunity to return, but I do not want to leave my father alone. If you could please stay with him, I would appreciate it. _

_ -Belle_

Sighing, Hermione shook her head and placed her hands on her hips. It was true, Hermione wanted to go back to England badly. She had work to do for S.P.E.W. – the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare – but the Ministry of Magic wasn't discussing any important legislature that involved the rights of magical creatures in the next few weeks, so she didn't need to lobby the Ministry _right _now. Besides, Ron had made some slightly insulting comments toward Hermione the past couple days, and she had had enough of him for a while. If Belle wanted to stay in England for a few weeks, Hermione didn't really have a problem obliging her request. She could brush up on her French before returning to London, and perhaps her experiences here would give her inspiration for another essay. In addition to working for the rights of magical creatures, Hermione had devoted herself to educating all people – even house-elves and centaurs – usually in the form of essays on different topics. Perhaps she could write about eighteenth-century France next, she thought brightly.

With a clearer perspective on her situation, Hermione scavenged for a spare bit of parchment, and with a quill she found in her robes, wrote a reply to Belle's note in her neat cursive.

_Dear Belle,_

_ If you wish to stay in England, that is fine with me, and I will stay here in France to look after your father. I'd like to learn more about your culture as well, so if you wish to stay in England for a month, that works well with me. However, please show this note to Harry so that he knows I am safe. He can write to my parents so that they know where I am. _

_ -Hermione_

Beneath her message to Belle, Hermione wrote a brief letter to Harry and Ron in English explaining where she was and how she had traveled through the mirror. Then she instructed Harry (because he was the less forgetful and more responsible) to purchase a French-English dictionary, basic French/English textbooks, and appropriate female clothing and toiletries, giving him permission to go to her flat and borrow anything that Belle might need. Hermione also recommended that he contact Bill and Fleur. Fleur _could instruct you in French_, she wrote, _or she could act as a translator between you and Belle_. If he encountered problems obtaining any of the items, he should owl her parents, and they would send him the appropriate materials.

Then, with a simple charm Hermione had created, she attached the parchment to the mirror, with the message facing in. She put away the extra writing materials, and proceeded to dress for the day. She took off her work clothes, and she put on the forest-green dress again. She tied her hair up with the ribbon from yesterday, slid into a simple pair of black flats, and with money Maurice gave her, she headed to town to purchase groceries and return Belle's books.

With a basket loped over her arm carrying the coins and books, Hermione examined her surrounding without worrying about carrying several items. She crossed the small bridge, and gaped as she stared at the town, for it reminded her so much of Diagon Alley. True, in Diagon Alley Hermione would have seen owls, lizards, wands, broomsticks, and people wearing robes, but the hustle and bustle of the towns was the same, and for the first time since arriving, Hermione felt at home, especially since that now in England she rented a flat above Madame Malkin's robe shop in Diagon Alley.

As she continued into town purchasing groceries and examining dry goods, Hermione heard hushed French whispers and tried to understand what the town gossips said.

"My, she looks so much like Belle…"

"… what god-awful hair…"

"Too tall and willowy… Belle is so much prettier…"

"Well, I hear that in Paris, being thin is all the rage right now…"

"… never seen her here before…"

The whispers continued until, with a roll of her eyes, Hermione entered the bookseller's shop and the door clattered behind her loudly. With a heavy sigh, Hermione gazed around and saw books from ceiling to floor. While the collection wasn't nearly as impressive as her own private library, Hermione felt comfort at seeing and smelling the new books inked on cream parchment. In such a state of peace, it took her a moment before she realized that an elderly gentleman with spectacles perched on the end of his nose was calling to her.

"_Excusez-moi, mademoiselle_, but I've never seen you here before. What is your name?" The kindly old bookseller smiled at her warmly, and Hermione smiled back.

"_Je m'appelle_ _Hermione_. I'm Belle's cousin, and I'm staying with my uncle Maurice for a while." Hermione fiddled with her books and slowly pulled them out of the basket, waiting for the man's reply.

"Oh, I see. Belle must be out of town then, if you're running her errands?"

Hermione nodded. "_Oui_. Belle is visiting some friends near Paris. She left late last night, I believe."

His mouth quirked in a frown, the bookseller stroked his chin. "I notice you have an accent, mademoiselle, though you speak well. Where are you from?"

Hermione glowed at the praise and replied, "I am from London. That is where my family lives, though Belle's mother and my mother, her sister, were originally from France. That's why I have an English accent."

Any trace of suspicion faded from the bookseller's eyes, and he accepted the books with a warm 'thanks'. "Will you be borrowing more?" he asked her, and she politely declined, saying that she had not yet read the books that Belle owned. Upon further persuasion, Hermione borrowed a book – written in English – that contained fairytales. With a smile pasted on her face, she then bid the bookseller adieu and left the shop, only to bump into a massive object.

"Ah, Belle," the man said, "I knew it was only a matter of time before you came running into my arms." The man gripped Hermione's arms, and she tried to wrestle herself away. He was so strong that after a few seconds, Hermione gave up, and tilted her face up so that she could see her captor.

He was tall and handsome, but an arrogant smirk marred his tan complexion. He had gathered his long black hair into a ponytail, much to Hermione's disdain, and his pale blue eyes radiated self-confidence – _over-confidence_ in Hermione's opinion.

"You're not Belle," the man said. He let go of Hermione at once and stared at her with accusing eyes. "Who are you, and where is Belle?"

Ruffled from being held so tightly and spoken to so rudely, Hermione brushed herself off and in a lofty tone replied, "I am someone who does _not _grab random strangers and demand things of them." She put her nose in the air and stalked off, only to have the man grab her wrist a few seconds later. Fuming, Hermione turned to face him and crossed her arms against her chest.

"Look, Belle is my fiancée," the man said in hushed tones, bending over so that his lips were next to Hermione's ear. "She's the only one that ever goes to the bookshop." The man shivered with disgust. "I need to know where she is… if she's not at the _bookshop_, is she at home?"

"How would you expect me to know?" Hermione asked coolly, backing away from the brutish man in front of her. "And why would I inform you anyway? You haven't even been so courteous as to tell me your name."

"I'm Gaston." He waited in silence. "Well, aren't you going to tell me where she is? You're wearing one of her dresses – you must know Belle!" Hermione looked down at the forest-green dress. His logic made sense; Hermione had to grant him that.

With a sigh, Hermione began to tell Gaston, Belle's fiancée, the story she and Maurice had invented. She told him how late last night, Belle had ridden off to a small town outside of Paris with a traveler passing through Molyneux. There, she would visit some old friends for a few weeks before returning. Hermione then introduced herself as Belle's first cousin from London, England. At this point, Gaston had stopped listening.

"So, you're saying that Belle won't return for a few weeks? How am I supposed to propose to her if she's not here?" he bellowed in exasperation, his tan face turning ruddy from anger. Confused, Hermione turned towards him again.

"_Excusez-moi_, Monsieur Gaston, but you said that Belle was your fiancée… how could she be your intended bride if you hadn't asked her to marry you yet?" A chill entered Hermione's voice, and her brown eyes lost any little warmth they had possessed earlier. Obviously this man had lied to her.

"Well, that's easy. No one says 'no' to Gaston – she wasn't going to refuse me!" Gaston laughed as though this were impossible. "Once I decided to make her my bride, I knew that she would be my bride… She'll be so lucky to have me as a husband." Fists on his hips, Gaston stood tall, preening as he explained this. Hermione tried hard not to show how revolting she thought the situation was.

"Imagine that," she muttered sarcastically as she gave the tan hunter a withering look. "Well, excusez-moi… _monsieur_… but I need to be going." Then as quickly as she could, Hermione left his presence, after ensuring her purchases were safely in hand, and dashed back to the safety of Belle's cottage.

After greeting Maurice and preparing dinner, Hermione thought about her fight with Ron, and she compared the disagreement to meeting Gaston. There existed no doubt in her mind that Ron was many times smarter and a better person, and with a pang, Hermione began to miss him a little. As she thought about it some more, Hermione realized that she knew the real reason that Belle wanted some time away from Molyneux – and she suspected it had to do with a tall, dark, strong and handsome brute.

* * *

_A/N: Please review! Thanks, guys! :)_


	5. Right From the Moment When I Met Her

5. Right From the Moment When I Met Her, Saw Her

Harry, being an intelligent man, took Hermione's advice and owled Fleur and Bill immediately upon seeing Hermione's note. At seeing Hermione's logical suggestion, he smacked himself. Fleur was Ron's sister-in-law; more than likely she'd be willing to help. Tying the note to Pig's leg and pushing him out the window, Harry turned to the next order of business: Belle needed clothes. Belle, though not one to complain, had been wearing the same clothes for the last three days. Despite the cleaning charms Harry had attempted to use on her clothes, Ron had actually begun to avoid her because of the stink emanating from her. Harry thought Ron could be more courteous, but he didn't blame him for wanting to keep his nose intact. Sometimes Harry had to leave the room during their conversations.

Harry's main dilemma had been how to obtain Muggle clothing for Belle. Since she was not a witch, he didn't think it was appropriate to take _her_ to Diagon Alley, but he didn't know any Muggle women who could take her shopping in Muggle London. Harry certainly didn't want to go shopping with her. He would pick out a few dresses today in Diagon Alley – something similar to what Belle wore – and he would wait until Fleur arrived tomorrow to select the rest of Belle's wardrobe and toiletries. Harry quickly said good-bye to Belle and Ron, explaining his purpose for leaving, not that Belle understood him.

"Erm… mate?" Ron asked, "why don't you just borrow some of Hermione's clothes for Belle? Hermione has Muggle clothes, and some of them will probably fit her."

Harry shook his head. "Ron… I dunno if that will work; Hermione's probably placed lots of spells around her flat to protect it, and I have no clue what enchantments she used. Even though she gave me permission, to go there if I needed to, I still don't want to intrude on Hermione's stuff."

Ron shook his head. "She left her flat key on the coffee table. Hermione said the key temporarily undoes the enchantments so that she can enter." At Harry's hesitation, Ron said, "Hermione is probably wearing Belle's clothing, so what's it matter?"

"I dunno." Harry sighed. "Okay, I'll go to Hermione's instead. Do you have the key?" Ron tossed a large silver key to Harry, and the black-haired wizard easily caught it. "I'll be back in an hour. Ginny's stopping by for lunch, so she might be here by then." Harry looked at Ron seriously. "Look after Belle, okay?" With that comment, Harry grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and stepped into the green flames disappearing to Diagon Alley.

Ron shook his head and leaned back on the sofa. Harry thought Belle would disappear if left to her own devices, but he knew better; she was too scared to leave. With a peaceful smile, Ron closed his eyes and began to sleep, snoring lightly.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Hermione's apartment, Harry stared at the large armoire full of robes and Muggle clothing. Jeans, tank tops, blouses, neatly lined one side, an organized rainbow of witch robes lined the other. Scratching his neck, Harry grabbed clothing at random until it filled his arms. This would have been simpler if Hermione had already connected her fireplace to the one at Grimmauld Place, but as it was, Harry had to travel all the way to the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace on foot and transfer to his own fireplace. With a grunt, Harry tossed the clothing onto the sofa and conjured up a bag to carry the assortment of robes, jeans, shirts, and dresses.

"When Hermione returns, I am _definitely_ recommending that she connect her fireplace to ours." Using all his muscle, Harry lifted the heavy duffle bag over his shoulder and walked down Diagon Alley, trying not to drop the bag nor injure himself under its weight. That was a difficult challenge.

So focused on his task, Harry forgot his failure to inform Ginny of their new houseguest. When he finally returned to the living room fireplace of 12 Grimmauld Place, he was not expecting to see his girlfriend so enraged.

"Why in the name of Merlin, Harry James Potter, is there a girl I have never seen before in your house?" Ginny asked, glaring, when she saw him return. Two fierce red spots rose to her cheeks. "Ron said that she has been here for _three days_, so why was I not aware of her presence until _two minutes ago_?" Folding her arms across her chest, her hard brown eyes demanded an answer. Sheepish, Ron suddenly became very interested in the ceiling.

Harry sent his friend an irritated look before looking again at his girlfriend, taking a deep breath to calm himself. "Gin, she came to our world through a mirror. She's a Muggle from France, and we can't just turn her out."

"Why didn't you tell me about her sooner?" Ginny's eyes softened a little, but the hurt and suspicion pierced Harry's heart. Why hadn't he told her sooner? He should have sent her an owl the very first day Belle stayed with them.

Now it was Harry's turn to be sheepish. "Sorry, I forgot. I've been busy trying to help her adjust to life here that everything else has…" The excuse sounded lame to his own ears, but Ginny smiled in understanding and squeezed his hand that didn't hold the duffle bag.

"I'm sorry I overreacted," she murmured. "It's been a rough week with the Harpies; our coach has been cross ever since we lost against Puddlemere United. I'm glad that it's finally our Easter break."

Harry smiled and, bending down, dropped the duffle bag and kissed Ginny gently. "It's okay, Gin. I understand." The two of them stood there, gazing at each other for a couple minutes until Ron cleared his throat loudly, and Ginny and Harry looked up, embarrassed.

"ARE WE HAVING LUNCH OR NOT?" Ron asked, pointedly looking away from the couple. "I don't know about you two, but I'm starving."

Ginny rolled her eyes, still holding Harry's hand. "You're always hungry, Ron." She smiled at Harry, rose onto her toes and pecked him on the lips. Then she and Harry joined Ron in the kitchen, the door swinging behind them.

From her location in the shadows, none of the three had seen Belle watching them. She had seen Harry kiss the girl with red hair, and she had seen him step out of the fireplace after not being there a moment earlier. Something was terribly wrong here in England. In fact, Belle's curiosity overwhelmed her sadness at discovering that Harry was betrothed.

Belle frowned. When she had first met Hermione, the girl had said something about being a witch. Perhaps Hermione had been serious; maybe, just maybe, Harry was a warlock of some kind and appearing out of the fireplace was a spell he had learned.

Walking to the fireplace, Belle examined it closely. Inside, soot covered the stones, but she couldn't find anything unusual in the fireplace itself. Disappointed, Belle exited the fireplace, heading to her room, a small pot of greenish-gold dust attached to the wall near the fireplace caught her eye. She sifted some through her hand, watching it glitter. She tossed some into the fireplace and as the green flames rose to fill the space, Belle's eyes widened.

"I now believe that you are a witch, Hermione," Belle whispered in French as the flames slowly subsided, "because your world does have magic." Her eyes shining, Belle walked to the kitchen to join the others, glad that Hermione had agreed to let her stay in England for a month.

* * *

HP*BATB*HP*BATB

"Bonjour, Hermione," a deep voice boomed as the stranger slipped an arm around her slim frame. "We meet again." Annoyed, Hermione closed her eyes, then twisted around to see Gaston standing behind her. A shiver of disgust ran through her, and she slid from underneath the brute's arm. Oh, how she detested him.

"How do you know my name?" Hermione was positive she hadn't told him when they had first met yesterday.

"Everyone knows your name." Gaston shrugged. "You _are_ the prettiest girl in town, next to Belle." He smiled proudly, his pointed white teeth contrasted against his tanned skin. "Just like I'm the handsomest man in town." He puffed out his chest, towering over Hermione's five feet eight inches even more.

Hermione closed her mouth so as not to gag. "Well, _Monsieur _Gaston, I must be going. I have errands to run." She made a motion to leave, but Gaston grabbed her arm forcefully. Hermione pursed her lips, and her prick of irritation and disgust turned to anger. _Merlin's beard_, he was ill-mannered.

"When will Belle return?"

Hermione glared at the idiot. "I don't know. Now please let me go, _monsieur_." Yanking her arm away from him, Hermione walked away as quickly as she could to finish her errands. Behind her, three blondes tutted in disapproval.

"Is she crazy?" the one wearing green asked. "Gaston held her… why did she want to leave?"

"I don't know, Celestine," the one in yellow said as she twirled a golden curl, "but she's just like Belle."

The third one, wearing a low-cut red dress paid no attention to the conversation. "Ooh, look girls… here comes Gaston!" The other two stopped talking, and Celestine pushed up her breasts so that she had more cleavage showing above her neckline. Gaston, with his sapphire eyes narrowed, relaxed the moment he saw the triplets.

"Bonjour, Cerise, Celine, Celestine." Gaston surveyed them head-to-toe and smirked. "How are you ladies today?"

"Tres bien, Gaston," the three girls giggled. With a coy smile, Cerise leaned over. Gaston stared at her hungrily. He sidled up to the three girls and wrapped a thick arm around Cerise, in the red, and Celine, in the yellow. Celestine pouted until Gaston invited her to sit on his lap.

"Gaston," Celine asked, still twirling her curl, "why will you propose to Belle? Don't you like me?" She stuck out a trembling lower lip. "I'd make a good wife."

"Me too," Cerise said as she pushed her body against Gaston's chest. "I'd make a _wonderful_ wife."

"So would I," interjected Celestine, "I'd make an _excellent_ wife." Celestine turned and nuzzled into Gaston's chest. He was so massive, so majestic. "I'd make a better wife than Belle or that strange Hermione girl."

"Me too!" shouted the other two girls as they clung to Gaston like parasites.

Gaston smiled and shook his head. What silly girls, _of course_ they wouldn't understand his logic. If he married Cerise, two other men would have identical women. The same went if he married Celine or Celestine – they weren't special or original. And Gaston was the _most_ extraordinary man in town, he needed to have a unique wife. Gaston thought for a moment, and his black eyebrows knitted together. Truth be told, Belle wasn't the most special girl in town… the most beautiful, yes… but there was someone else now who was more original, more alluring… more mysterious.

"Girls, I have an announcement to make," Gaston said loudly, and the triplets looked at him with hopeful brown eyes. Could their statements have made that much of an impact on him? Had he changed his mind about proposing to Belle?

"I will not ask Belle to marry me."

Immediately, the girls squealed and began jumping up and down. Even Celestine bounced up and down from her spot on Gaston's lap. He had taken their advice; he would marry one of them.

"Instead," Gaston continued loudly, a steely look of resolve and pride on his face, "I will ask the new girl, Belle's cousin Hermione, to marry me instead." The triplets gasped, and Celine covered her mouth in shock. Cerise even began to cry.

"Gaston," Celestine asked, "Why are you doing this to us?" She pouted and pulled an embroidered handkerchief from between her breasts, dabbing at her eyes. "_We_ want to marry you." At this all three girls began to weep uncontrollably.

"Girls… just because I'll be married doesn't mean I can't have fun every once in a while," Gaston said, crushing Cerise and Celine to him. His eyes lit up wickedly. "We'll still have our old romps like always."

"Really?" the girls asked, hopeful looks again on their faces.

"Of course," Gaston assured them, grinning broadly. "Marriage won't change our relationship one bit." In the distance, he heard the bell of the bookshop and saw Hermione exit the store. Pushing the blondes away from him, he stood up, and puffed out his chest.

"I'll see you soon, ladies," Gaston said as he strutted away, off to propose to the 'new girl' in town. He grinned, a smug look on his face. Hermione would swoon and say 'yes' and his life would be complete with many hunting hounds and male children. Lifting the corners of his mouth in a smirk, Gaston strolled after his bride-to-be.

* * *

_A/N: Cerise means 'cherry' - That's why she's in the red. REVIEW! :) _


	6. Beauty and a Beast

6. Beauty and a Beast

Belle lay awake that night, staring at the grey ceiling above her, wearing a clean robe of some kind that Harry had given her. It smelled funny – nice, but funny – and with the unfamiliarity of the smell, and the excitement for tomorrow Belle couldn't quiet her thoughts.

With a heavy sigh, Belle pulled the covers off and treaded to the kitchens; she could do with some cold water. Once there, she found the pitcher on the counter and a glass next to it. Gingerly, Belle poured the pitcher over the glass, but a loud crash behind her made her drop the ceramic pitcher. It shattered, leaving a spiral of ocean blue ceramic on the wooden floor and staining the wood with water. "_Merde_," Belle murmured as she bent down to pick up the broken shards.

Heavy footsteps thudded into the kitchen as someone muttered, "_Lumos_." Instantly, a small bluish-white light filled the kitchen, revealing a tall figure in the shadows. Belle stood up, only to find that she was far shorter than the intruder. She folded her lips together in discomfort and asked boldly, "'Oo eez you?"

The light grew closer, and Belle stepped back, careful not to step on the broken ceramic with her bare feet. Soon, though, she hit a hard object, and pinned against the counter, Belle could not escape. Her breathing accelerated, – becoming shallow and ragged – and she clutched the counter, her knuckles white with fear.

"Belle, is that you?" a voice asked. "What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

Belle frowned. She didn't recognize the voice; it was clearly male – a low tenor voice – but it wasn't Harry's concerned and gentle tone. This voice sounded genuinely bewildered. Belle pressed her hands into the counter even tighter, losing feeling in her fingers.

"_Oui, c'est moi_," she whispered as the light continued to grow closer. She closed her eyes in the brightness and fell forward in her confusion. The man caught her and dragged her to a different room, placing her on a sofa. Finally opening her eyes, Belle saw the face of Ron Weasley right in front of her.

"Right… stay here, Belle," Ron said, pointing his wand at her. Belle was breathless from relief and awe at the glowing stick of wood. She stood up and walked toward Ron to examine the wand further, but he shook his head violently and pushed her back down. "_No, stay here_," he ordered as he returned to the kitchen. Frowning, Belle sat down; she wished she understood everything that everyone said or that everyone could understand her. She smiled though; after much hesitation and reference to his dictionary, Harry had informed Belle that Fleur – Ron's sister-in-law who spoke French fluently – would arrive tomorrow. Or later today, Belle supposed since it was probably morning. Finally, someone would be able to understand her, and maybe she could learn more about England and its magic.

An involuntary yawn caused Belle to stretch, raising her lean arms to the ceiling. Then, with heavy eyelids, Belle leaned sideways and fell asleep, and her chocolate brown hair floated around her angelic face. At this moment, Ron reentered the room, with the mended pitcher in one hand and Belle's glass of water in the other. After putting the pitcher and the glass on a table and lighting some candles with a flick of his wrist, Ron saw that Belle lay sleeping peacefully on the sofa, her brown hair splayed across the cushions. How beautiful she was… almost as beautiful as Hermione.

Ron's stomach dropped; he missed Hermione dearly. Not only had they been friends, but after their final year at Hogwarts, Ron was sure they would start dating. However, with rebuilding Hogwarts and catching the remaining Deatheaters, the two of them had had to postpone a relationship; only recently had they gone on their first few dates. However, their last excursion to the Three Broomsticks nearly a month ago had ended in a fierce argument, and it hadn't helped Hermione's temper that Ron was tipsy with Firewhiskey. Although they argued frequently, Hermione had been cool toward Ron, and in frustration, he had recently made comments that had nettled her. Despite the arguing, Ron had still enjoyed himself and he sometimes he even pictured dating the bossy brunette witch – in the distant future, of course – and he had pictured dating her for a couple years now. Unfortunately, Ron thought, as long as Hermione was in France, that future with her was on hold and he could not apologize while she was away; the girl in front of him served as a bitter reminder of that. Before he lost control of his emotions, Ron set down the pitcher and glass of water on the end table and exited the room, leaving the French maiden alone.

* * *

Belle awoke later that morning to yelling. Groaning, she opened her eyes only to blink at the bright sunlight. She didn't remember falling asleep on the sofa, but she remembered breaking the pitcher. Belle looked to her right as she stretched and paused, mid-stretch, as she recognized the blue, ceramic container from the previous evening.

"I thought it shattered on the floor," Belle murmured as she placed her hands at her sides. Pursing her lips, she lifted up the pitcher and examined it, but no cracks or chips remained. "Someone must have repaired it with something… but this couldn't have been mortar, otherwise it would still be wet, and it would show. How very curious." She knit her eyebrows together and replaced the ceramic jug on the end table.

Only seconds later, Belle heard more arguing. She vaguely remembered that Harry had invited Ginny to stay the night, and as Belle approached the foyer, she knew the red-haired girl had been the one yelling. Peering into the entrance, she saw Harry, Ron, Ginny, and a couple of strangers standing in a circle. Ginny leaned forward, yelling at a beautiful woman with silvery-blonde hair. Belle bit her lip and stepped forward to see the group better.

Rubbing Ginny's back, Harry tried to quiet his girlfriend, but Ginny continued her tantrum. "Bill, your wife woke me up! Phlegm had the audacity to–"

"Fleur," Bill corrected with a tired smile. He entwined his fingers with Fleur's. Ginny rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"She didn't have to sing to announce her presence," Harry agreed diplomatically, still wearing his pajamas. "And you did say that you wouldn't be here until the early afternoon."

"My apologeez," Fleur said with her accent. "It 'as been a very stressful week with ze baby. I realize now zat I should 'ave informed 'Arry of our emergency appointment with ze doctor and asked to come earlier in ze day _before_ we came." Bill rubbed Fleur's pregnant stomach, a smile on his face, as his wife spoke.

Ron stared dreamily at Fleur, Harry shrugged, but Ginny scoffed at Fleur's explanation. "Well, _Phlegm_, we wouldn't want you to miss your appointment." Then, acting like the teenager that she was, Ginny stomped upstairs, her radioactive fury reaching the group and resulting in an awkward silence. With Ginny's absence, Belle stepped into the foyer. Shyly, she looked at the ground.

"Good morning, Belle," Harry greeted. "Fleur, this is Belle… the girl that I wrote to you about. She's from France, and she doesn't speak any English."

"Thank you, 'Arry," Fleur said with a brilliant smile. Harry's cheeks turned a pale pink, and he nodded, excusing himself. Belle suspected that he needed to speak with his volatile redheaded girlfriend. With Harry gone, Bill asked to speak with his younger brother to give the women privacy. Ron reluctantly followed his sibling into the sitting room, and silence fell upon the two women.

"Bonjour, Belle," Fleur greeted. "I am Fleur. I'm sure Harry told you about me – I am Ronald's sister-in-law." She spoke fluidly in French, and for the first time in three days, Belle felt fully comfortable.

"_Oui, Madame_. Harry has been wonderful, but he and Ron don't understand that women have different needs than they do." Belle smiled. She had tried to talk with Ginny about it, but Ginny looked at her coolly and walked away. She suspected that Ginny had a twinge of jealousy; after all, Harry had been extremely kind to her.

Fleur laughed. "Indeed they do. I told Harry that we would go to Diagon Alley today to purchase some clothes for you. Although you can wear Hermione's, I'm sure you'd be more comfortable in some of your own, _non_?"

"_Oui_," Belle agreed, nodding her head. "Fleur, if you don't mind, I'd like to learn some English as well. I have learned a few phrases, but I cannot communicate well with Harry… or Ron," Belle added as an afterthought.

"Certainly," Fleur said. "I'll help you get dressed first. These robes can be a pain to get on when you first wear them. After that, we can work on your English."

"_Merci, Fleur_," Belle replied, a look of relief crossing her face. With a smile, Fleur placed a hand on the younger girl's shoulder and steered her into the bedroom to help her prepare for the day ahead. After selecting a pair of royal blue robes, Fleur helped Belle with her hair, muttering incantations to make it appear sleek and lustrous. Then the two girls sat on the sofa, and Fleur taught Belle some basic phrases in English: I am hungry, I am thirsty, I am tired, How do you say…, and others Fleur thought that Belle might need to know. They agreed to speak with Harry to see if they could meet twice a week to work on Belle's English and on Harry's French. Meanwhile, Ginny still fumed in Harry's room.

"C'mon Gin," Harry pleaded, as he pulled emerald green robes over his jeans and t-shirt, "Fleur is part of your family now. I don't know why you dislike her so much."

Ginny sighed and leaned back on Harry's bed. "Fleur's part veela, and I don't like the way she makes my brother act like a daft twit. Not to mention… she is French. I wish my brother would have married an English woman."

"Well, then, don't go with us to Diagon Alley today. I don't want you to be unhappy."

Ginny shook her head. "I have to go. I don't want Ron to do anything stupid around Fleur; even though we all know he fancies Hermione, he's likely to do something absolutely daft in Phlegm'spresence. You would think he would stop acting like a blushing schoolgirl around his brother's wife, but no… not Ron." She rolled her eyes. "Well, let's go." Ginny had changed into a pair of deep purple robes, and she had pulled her long hair back into a braid.

"All right, Gin," Harry said with a smile as he grabbed her small hand. Pulling her with him, Harry apparated to the front hall where all the others were waiting.

"'Arry!" Fleur greeted, clapping her hands together in delight. Ginny held Harry's hand more tightly. "Shall we go?"

Harry nodded and grabbed a pinch of Floo powder, throwing it into the fireplace. "Diagon Alley," he said, making sure to enunciate clearly. He didn't want a repeat of the summer before his second year at Hogwarts. Harry vanished, and the green flames died down quickly. Ginny – tossing the green powder into the fireplace – stepped into the flames and disappeared.

"Belle will travel before me," Fleur said to the group. "Bill, you can go before Ronald. I suspect zat Belle 'as not travelled by Floo Powder and will be confused by ze process." Nodding, Bill grabbed some powder and disappeared, and Ron did the same. Fleur grabbed Belle's hand gently and began speaking to her in French. "Now Belle, _we_ will take some Floo powder and enter the green flames."

"Will it hurt?" Belle asked, clearly concerned.

Fleur chuckled, a musical tinkle. "Oh no, it won't hurt at all. Once you enter the flames, you announce your destination and the Floo network will take you there." Fleur looked at the younger woman. "Does that make sense?" Belle nodded, though her insides churned a little. True, she was excited to try the magical transportation, but right now, her anxiety outweighed the positive emotion.

Tossing some green powder into the fireplace, Fleur smiled at Belle. "Don't worry – it'll be fine. Just make sure to enunciate, Belle. Remember, you're going to Diagon Alley."

The smoke clouded Belle's brain, and she coughed violently. "D-Dia-gon All-ey," she sputtered, doubled over. Belle felt a loud swishing in her ears, and she covered them with her hands. The last thing Belle saw before all went black was Fleur's concerned face looking at her from the living room.

* * *

When Belle finally opened her eyes, she saw that soot covered her and that she was lying on the floor. Her hands had black, dusty streaks on them, and Belle could only imagine that her face must be worse. Sitting down, Belle examined the shop into which she had fallen. No customers were in the shop, and a heavy silence filled the air as thickly as the dust covered the objects. The few items that were in the shop made Belle shiver; they didn't look like anything she had seen at Harry's house. On one display set, a large, emaciated hand sat open, as though it were waiting to crush its next unsuspecting victim. Belle, with her eyes wide, headed to exit the shop. Just as she placed her hand on the doorknob, the door creaked open.

Belle stood back as a tall blonde-haired man entered the shop. His robes were similar to the ones she wore, but his were black and pristine. He tilted his face up with a haughty glance and continued to the counter. Belle, annoyed at the man's conceit, began mumbling under her breath in French and exited the shop. Once she had exited the shop, she regretted leaving. In the alleyway, many filthy people were selling beetles and other disgusting creatures. One lady with two rotten, yellow teeth approached Belle and tried to sell her what looked like human fingers. Disgusted, Belle clutched her stomach and returned to the shop she had exited. She could only hope that arrogant man might help her. He was the only one that Belle _could_ envision helping her. Opening the door, she saw the man on the other side. He raised his eyebrow at Belle as he exited the shop. Belle swallowed painfully, smoothed her filthy hair down and tried to speak.

"What do you want?" the man snapped. Belle looked into his eyes, and saw hard, cold, silver. She pursed her lips. Maybe he wouldn't help her find Diagon Alley after all.

"'Ello," Belle said hesitantly. "My name… eez… Belle." She sighed and bit her lip. She did not know how to ask him where Diagon Alley was in English. Belle clutched her sides, crossing her arms and looked at the floor, concentrating.

"Well, what is it?" he asked, now looking like he had sucked a lemon. His eyes, harsh like steel, penetrated Belle and with resolve, she looked up at him.

"_Parlez-vous français_?" she asked quickly. "I no speak Een-gleesh good."

The man let out an angry sigh. "_Oui_," he said irritably. "_Je parle couramment le français."_ He raised his eyebrows again and waited for Belle to continue. He had begun tapping his foot.

"Well," Belle said in French, "I'm looking for Diagon Alley. That's where my friends are… and I don't know how to get there." Belle paused a moment. "Monsieur, you didn't tell me your name."

"_Je m'appelle Draco Malfoy_," he said coldly. "Diagon Alley is at the end of this street, to your right." He pointed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, _mademoiselle_," he said, annoyance blatant in his tone, "I need to be going." With a hard glance at Belle, he spun around and continued in the opposite direction of Diagon Alley. Impulsively, Belle trotted after Monsieur Malfoy.

"Wait, monsieur," Belle said, out of breath. "Thank you for your assistance." She smiled at him warmly and touched his arm appreciatively. Turning around, Belle dashed off to find Harry, Ron, and Fleur. She left so quickly, that she failed to see Draco's bewildered and slightly revolted expression.

"Bloody French women," he muttered as he continued down Knockturn Alley. "They're so damn helpless." Frowning slightly, Draco twisted around to see Belle. The corners of his mouth twitched as he saw her bright blue robes flutter behind her. After the briefest moment, Draco continued down Knockturn Alley and disapparated.

* * *

"Belle!" Fleur cried, hugging the girl as she joined her and Bill in Diagon Alley. "We were so worried about you. Harry, Ginny, and Ron split up from us to try to find you. I'm so glad we found you!" Fleur held Belle even more tightly. When she finally broke the embrace, Fleur surveyed Belle from head to toe and clucked her tongue. "You are a mess." Uttering a simple cleaning charm, Fleur managed to clear away most of the dirt and dust from Belle's hair and robes. Belle then wiped her face on the sleeve of the robes. Good as new, she thought, as she looked at herself in a storefront window.

While Fleur had fussed over Belle, Bill had contacted Harry and informed him that they had found Belle. Now the trio – Ron, Harry, and Ginny – came and joined Fleur, Bill and Belle. Ginny, with a sour look on her face, glared at Fleur.

"Apparently, you didn't explain the Floo Network well enough," Ginny said crossly. "We've been searching for her for nearly an hour." Ginny looked at Belle. "Where were you anyway?"

Fleur translated the question, and Belle began describing the scene that she had seen when she had landed from the fireplace. Fleur again translated what Belle was saying, and Harry rubbed his chin, thinking. "It sounds like she ended up in Knockturn Alley, Gin." He shuddered. "I ended up in the wrong grate once, and that's where it took me. I never want to go there again."

The conversation changed topics, and Fleur decided that she and Belle would go shopping. Ginny reluctantly agreed to join them after receiving a pointed look from Bill. "You should try and befriend them, Ginny," he mouthed as Ginny made a face. The boys decided to go to Gringotts to withdraw more money in case the women needed it, and afterwards, they headed to Quality Quidditch Supplies to look at the newest brooms (Harry marveled at the new Lightning Thunder, which claimed to be twice as fast as the Firebolt). Dragging Harry and Ron away from the brooms after a conversation about Quidditch that lasted nearly an hour, Bill suggested that they go to the Leaky Cauldron to get some Firewhiskey and Butterbeer. The two younger men agreed, and while the women selected dresses for Belle, they talked about Belle, Ginny, and Fleur.

"When is Fleur due to have her baby?" Ron asked, taking a swig of Firewhiskey after stuffing his mouth with chips. He belched and Harry rolled his eyes as he gulped down some of his Butterbeer.

"In another six weeks or so," Bill said with a smile. "The healers think it'll be a boy, but Fleur is adamant that it's a girl." He chuckled. "I guess we won't find out until that day."

"I don't think I want to have kids," Ron said. "They're so much work."

Bill shook his head. "You'll change your mind. When you're married to someone that you love, and you're a bit older… then you'll want kids." He sipped his Firewhiskey. "How about you Harry?"

"Well," Harry said awkwardly, "I suppose it'll depend on what Ginny wants." Ron and Bill looked at him curiously. "I mean, it's not something that we've talked about. We haven't even talked about marriage yet, really." Harry drank some of his Butterbeer to prevent himself from talking as a scarlet flush crept up his neck.

"Well," Bill said, in an attempt to relieve the suddenly tense atmosphere, "Cheers to you and Ginny… whatever you decide to do." All three men downed their drinks and grinned.

"I wonder how Ginny's doing," Harry said thoughtfully. He chuckled. "I hope she's getting along with Fleur. Maybe she's even trying some dresses on."

Ron snorted. "Bet you a galleon Ginny throws a tantrum in one of the stores. She can't stand Fleur."

"You're on," Bill said, extending his hand to Ron. "Ginny's more mature than that. She wouldn't let her temper get the best of her."

"That galleon's as good as mine," Ron muttered, drinking his new glass of Firewhiskey.

* * *

Ginny was most certainly not getting along with Fleur and Belle. The two women spoke in French most of the day, and Ginny's head was starting to ache from trying to understand them. Annoyed, she asked Fleur to speak in English, and perhaps as revenge from being called Phlegm earlier that morning, Fleur ignored Ginny's request. As such, Ginny fumed silently in the corner of the store while Belle tried on different dresses. Most of them were simple and floor-length, similar to the one that Ginny had seen her wearing the day before.

Throwing her hands into the air, Ginny left the shop and wandered the street. Fleur and Belle would be quite a while, she suspected. She checked on them fifteen minutes later, and they were still selecting dresses. Calmed down, Ginny joined them again and bit her cheek to prevent her temper from flaring up again. Fleur paid for the dresses and the three girls exited the shop. On the way to join the men in the Leaky Cauldron, Belle saw Flourish and Blotts and pointed excitedly.

"She wants to go in, Ginny," Fleur explained. "She enjoys reading very much." Ginny nodded and sat down on a bench right inside the store, resting her head against the wall. She couldn't _wait_ until this trip was over. When Belle and Fleur finally reemerged from the shop, Ginny practically ran to the Leaky Cauldron to join the rest of the group.

When the women joined the men at a table in the bar and after Ron had reluctantly paid Bill a galleon ("It was a surprise, but no, Ginny did not lose 'er temper," Fleur told her grinning husband when he asked), Fleur began to recount their day, telling the men about all the dresses, shoes, and jewelry Belle had gotten. Belle – who couldn't understand the conversation – tuned Fleur out as an agitated Ginny sat on her barstool, and the men listened politely. Ron nodded his head up and down eagerly, his eyes glazed over as he stared at Fleur.

Belle thought back on her adventure as she trailed a long finger around the edge of her Butterbeer tankard. More than anything else, she wondered why the man, Monsieur Malfoy, had been so haughty. He seemed an enigma, courteous yet rude, cold yet helpful. Perhaps she should have been affronted by his behavior, Belle mused, but she had been terrified to be in a strange place in a strange country alone, that his rudeness hadn't sunk in until now.

"Belle," Fleur said loudly, shaking her shoulder, "It is time to go." Returning from her reverie, Belle slid off her barstool and began to follow Ginny as Fleur guided her out of the pub.

* * *

Back at the house, Fleur and Bill said their good-byes, promising to come as soon as they could. The part-veela woman even suggested that Belle come stay with them for a bit some time at the Shell Cottage since no one knew how limited her time would be. Harry shook his head, smiling: Fleur had certainly taken a liking to the French beauty. Ginny rolled her eyes with her arms crossed in reaction to the news, while Belle smiled and thanked Fleur profusely for her generosity in giving of her time, and for her offer that Belle could stay with them "whene'er she so desired." After hugging Belle again, Fleur pulled her husband by the arm and led him to the doorsteps where they disapparated to St. Mungo's.

"Well, that was fun," Ginny said as she looked crossly at the front door. "I'm glad Phlegm is finally gone."

"Surprise there, Gin," Harry chuckled as he wrapped an arm around her. "Shall we find Kreacher and have him make dinner?"

" 'Course," said Ron, patting his stomach. "Those chips at the Leaky Cauldron didn't hold me long." He glanced at the brunette next to him. "Coming, Belle?"

Ron extended his hand toward her, and with only a second's hesitation, Belle grabbed it. A light, fluttery feeling flashed through her stomach as the redheaded boy led her downstairs to the kitchens, but as Belle tried to place the feeling, it dissipated, as quickly as it had come leaving Belle to wonder what on earth she had just experienced as they clattered down the stone steps to the kitchens.

* * *

**FRENCH:**

_Parlez-vous français_? = _Do you speak French? _

_Oui, je parle couramment le français = Yes, I speak fluent French.  
_


	7. We're Not Safe Until She's Dead

7. We're Not Safe Until She's Dead

As Hermione watched the house before her burning down in the darkness of night, she couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. This was her fault. If she had not come to France, this would not be happening right now.

Her eyes widened, and gathering her brown curls at the nape of her neck, Hermione doubled over and retched onto the grass. The bile seeped into the ground, and Hermione tried not to be sick again. She leaned against the lamppost and reflected on how this all started.

Yesterday afternoon, Gaston had followed her to Maurice's cottage, knocking on the door only minutes after she returned 'home,' and when Hermione tried to shut the door in his brutish face, the hunter demonstrated a rare moment of cleverness, placing a black-booted foot in the door to prevent the English witch from closing it entirely. Reluctantly, Hermione had let him in, and he smiled at her. To Hermione, it looked like he was leering at her instead.

"Well, Hermione," Gaston had said, puffing out his chest. "Today is the day your dreams come true."

Hermione raised her eyebrow in disbelief. "What do you know about my dreams, Gaston?" she asked. "We only met yesterday."

Gaston laughed and slapped his knee. Hermione's face became devoid of all emotion as he chuckled, "I know plenty about your dreams. You are like all the women here in Molyneux – you want a husband who can provide for you, and you want to have lots of children. Especially if they are strapping young boys, like me." Gaston put his foot upon a chair, and with his hands on his hips, grinned at Hermione. She tried not to laugh at his arrogance.

"Actually, Gaston," Hermione said, biting her cheek, "I don't want to be married, not now, anyway." And _especially_ not to you, she added silently.

"Of course you want to be married. Look Hermione, I want you to be my wife – you're the most beautiful girl in town –"

"Wait," Hermione interrupted, putting a hand out to stop him. "I thought you said that Belle was the most beautiful girl in town."

"I changed my mind."

Hermione threw up her hands. There had to be a way to use logic to convince Gaston that this was wrong. She thought for a moment. "If you change your mind that quickly about who you want to marry, how can I be sure that you won't change your mind after we marry?"

"You're the most beautiful girl in town, and I only want the best. You're the best, so I won't marry anyone else." Gaston's stare became uncomfortable, and Hermione looked away. Damn, this was going to be hard. Anyone with normal intelligence would be able to see the logic in her argument, but not Gaston.

"What if there's someone else that becomes the best?" she asked, her voice beginning to quaver, wringing her hands behind her back.

"There won't be," Gaston said, his patience wearing thin. "So, Hermione… what will it be? Is it a yes, or is it: Oh, YES!" Gaston had now walked towards her and he was only inches from her face waiting for her answer. Hermione closed her eyes and gulped, and in the instant that it took to compose herself to answer his question and reject him, she felt him grab her waist and in one rough motion, shove his lips on hers. Oh, bloody hell.

Hermione tried to twist from his grasp, but he was too strong. He only clutched her tighter, and she began to feel fear prickle the back of her neck. Eventually, he let go, and she could see the lust and thirst for domination in his malicious eyes. Oh, fuck. Hermione gripped her wand.

"So, Hermione… is it a yes, or is it: Oh, YES!" Gaston repeated, a threatening edge to his voice. Hermione shuddered in terror.

"Actually, Gaston," she said, trying to keep the shake out of her voice, "It's a no." Defiantly, she lifted her chin higher. "I won't marry you. I _can't_ marry someone as cruel as you."

"I will marry you, Hermione," Gaston hissed, and he grabbed her left wrist. "You will be mine."

"Never," she said, fire in her brown eyes. "Now, Gaston let go of me, or I will make you, so Merlin help me."

Gaston sneered, his eyes turning black with his dark humor. "How is a pretty little wench like you going to make me do anything?" He laughed derisively. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm much stronger than you. I'm the one who can make you do anything." He sidled up to her, and unconsciously, Hermione stepped back until her back was against the wall. Gaston stepped over her and she glared at him, unwilling to admit defeat when Gaston grabbed her upper left arm. Withdrawing her wand, Hermione narrowed her eyes with determination and unadulterated loathing.

"Let go, Gaston," Hermione said in a deadly tone, holding her wand up to his massive neck. "I'm warning you. Let go, or you will regret it, I swear you will." She held her wand up to his massive neck.

Gaston smirked, his eyes alight with mockery. "You're going to seek revenge using a _wooden stick_? Honestly Hermione, that's the dumbest thing I've ever seen."

"_Stupefy!_" A bright jet of red light burst from the end of Hermione's wand and hit Gaston square in the shoulders. He flew backwards against the wall near where the door was located, but he didn't become unconscious. Hermione supposed the great brute was too enormous for the stunning spell to affect him fully, even from such a close range. Shit.

However, the spell had the desired effect: Gaston's eyes widened in fear, and he slowly stood up, backing out the door. "Witchcraft!" he shouted as he left. "This girl is a witch!" Hermione shut her eyes and put her face in her hands. She had only hours, maybe only moments before the whole town came after her. She was in seventeenth century Europe; they believed in witches and were extremely superstitious.

"What have I done?" Hermione whispered. Not only would they come after her, but also Maurice would be a prime target. He lived here with her, and the townspeople would suspect that he had known about Hermione's abilities. No matter what, she would ensure Maurice's safety – she had promised Belle that. Running to the cellar, Hermione found Maurice underneath his contraption, muttering about how the blasted machine refused to work.

"Maurice!" Hermione said urgently, "You have to leave – now!" Confused, Maurice slid out from underneath his invention and stared at the girl. She simply stared at him, waiting for him to react.

"Why?" he asked as he put away his wrench. "What's the problem?"

Hermione tried to slow her breathing down and keep her rational mind. Panicking at a time like this would not help anyone. "I'm a witch. Gaston proposed to me, and I… I thought he was going to… to… to rape me. To defend myself, I uttered the stunning spell, but he wasn't knocked out – he was too massive." Hermione paused to gauge the old man's reaction. Nervous, he was paying attention. She swallowed. "The worst part is, he left here shouting that I'm a witch, and I think that he's going to incite the town against me. I have a feeling they'll burn me at the stake, or come here and try to harm you. That's why you have to leave immediately."

"Where will I go?" Maurice asked, his voice small. "Will I ever see Belle again?"

Hermione felt hot tears stinging her eyes. This was all her fault. She should have known better than this. Silently, she cursed herself. "You should take Philippe and go as far away from this town as you can – go to the next town or Paris if you're able. I'll take the mirror with me, and I'll meet you there. I'll figure out a way that you can travel through the mirror and see Belle. Maybe it would be better if we all went to England," Hermione whispered, the tears rolling down her cheeks now. She looked at Maurice, and she felt a painful tug in her chest. "I'm so sorry."

Maurice wrapped the crying girl in a hug and patted her back gently. "There, there," he said. "Don't worry. You didn't mean to cause this – you were only protecting yourself. We'll both be fine, Hermione." She wrapped her arms around him, squeezed him once and let go, wiping her tears with her hand. She needed to compose herself.

"All right," she said, suddenly businesslike, "Maurice, if you want to take your inventions, you need to pack them up right now. Take some clothes and food, and any prized possessions." He nodded as Hermione continued. "I'll take Belle's books and clothes with me, and I will also take the mirror. I'll saddle up Philippe so that he will be ready for you. I'll help you get ready to leave, and then I'll make my preparations." Then, she left Maurice as he began gathering his tools and half-made machines and carrying them to the wagon.

Running to the nearby stable, Hermione gathered Philippe's grooming materials and put them together on the wagon outside. She placed a blanket on the horse's back and placed the saddle on top of him. Leading him by the bridle, Hermione hitched him to the wagon and began lugging his food – mostly hay – out to the wagon. She then helped Maurice load his inventions, clothing, and food and said a quick goodbye as night fell. With a loud 'yah,' Maurice left the cottage, and Hermione was alone. Dashing upstairs, she began to gather her own items for the journey.

Maurice had left some food for her, and wrapping it up in her apron, she slipped it into the pocket of her dress. She then transfigured one of Belle's dresses into a satchel and began placing the other dresses and clothing in there. She sprinted downstairs and grabbed the books, shrunk them with her magic, and packed them as well. All she had left unpacked was the mirror.

As she tried to detach the mirror, Hermione saw the mob beginning to form outside the cottage. Torches glinted in the dark, and Hermione could see Gaston, his face set like flint, cold and uncaring. Hate flickered in those eyes, and even from her spot by the window, she could see his humiliation and terror. Biting her lip, Hermione tried more desperately to detach the mirror from the wall, muttering every incantation that she knew. Finally, in a final effort, she created her own spell.

"_Mirror, mirror on the wall_

_Detach yourself and save us all_

_If here you remain, you will burn_

_And Belle's mercy, I shall not earn_

_Belle will never her father see_

_Nor England see Hermione_

_Mirror, mirror on the wall_

_Leave this house and prevent this all."_

In one last attempt, Hermione twirled her wand and shut her eyes as she cried out her spell. She felt magic surge through her, and cracking her eyes open, she saw that the mirror was loosening itself from the wall. Relieved, Hermione muttered a shrinking charm and inserted the mirror into the satchel. She took a deep breath, placed the satchel on the bed and walking to the window gazed on the scene below.

"Fellow townsfolk," Gaston bellowed, "Inside this cottage live a witch and her caretaker. When I came to propose to Hermione this afternoon, she cackled and nearly killed me with her magic. We're not safe until she's dead!"

The town murmured in agreement, and one short man with black hair shouted, "Hear, hear!"

"And so," Gaston said, quieting the crowd by raising his hands, "I say we burn down their cottage and leave them to die!" The mob roared with excitement and agreement, and Gaston threw his torch onto the house; it reached the second-story, very near where Hermione stood.

"Let's kill the witch!"

More townspeople threw their torches onto the house, and soon the flames threatened to overtake the house. Hermione began coughing from all the smoke, and grabbing the satchel and her wand, she shut her eyes and prepared to disapparate to the edge of town. She felt the familiar pulling in her stomach, and when she opened her eyes, Hermione gasped. The cottage that she had called home for the last three days was ablaze and beginning to fall down. Hermione, watching the scene, vomited onto the grass and slid down the light post to rest for a moment.

In the excitement at burning the house down, no one noticed that Hermione was on the outskirts of town, and she preferred it that way. She didn't need them to come chasing her; let them think that she died in the fire. She closed her eyes and saw Harry and Ron. They were standing beside her, urging her on.

"Bloody brilliant, Hermione!"

"There's nothing Hermione can't do…"

"… the cleverest witch of our age…"

Hermione opened her eyes, and the brown glinted with firm determination. She would see her friends again, and Belle would see her father again – Hermione would see to it. She was a clever witch, and as she had proven many times in the past, anything she set her mind to, she would accomplish.

Grabbing her wand and the satchel, Hermione faced the forest at the edge of the town, took a deep breath and entered it. She would find Maurice, and she would take him to see his daughter someway, somehow.


	8. Through the Darkness and the Shadows

8. Through the Darkness and the Shadows

"You know," Hermione grumbled to herself as she trudged up yet another hill, "This would be far easier if I were using magical transportation. I'd even take a _broomstick_ right now." Since she had never been to this nearby town, Hermione didn't want to risk Apparition in case she splinched herself. Thus, exhausted from trekking in the woods only by wand light for nearly two hours, Hermione sat down on a fallen log.

By now, the entire cottage would be gone, she supposed; most of it had been ablaze when she had left Molyneux. Another wave of guilt crashed over her. If it hadn't been for her actions, Maurice wouldn't be homeless or alienated from his friends and family. The rotund, white-haired man had given her so much and she repaid him with heartache. The very thought dampened her spirits further. Hermione wished she were happy enough to conjure her Patronus, that way, she could comfort Maurice and maybe even learn of his whereabouts. Hermione smiled grimly. She doubted she could even conjure a whisper of silver light right now.

In the distance, Hermione heard a wolf howl. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled up. Clearly, the woods were more dangerous than she had expected. Biting her lip, Hermione left her comfortable perch on the log and began walking quickly. Another howl echoed in the forest, louder and closer this time. Hermione began to run as another wolf's wail reached her ears; it sounded mere meters away from her.

Sprinting, Hermione panted heavily, focused on escaping. She heard rapid, lithe footsteps, but Hermione wasn't sure if those footsteps were hers, or if they belonged to someone else. Soon, Hermione was out of breath, and she paused against a heavy oak tree and gasped. Yellow eyes glowed around her, and for a moment Hermione couldn't breathe at all. She clutched her satchel and wand even more tightly.

"_Lumos maxima_," Hermione whispered hoarsely. She scanned the landscape around her as the wolves grew closer and began to circle her. Barely twenty feet in front of her stood a colossal wrought iron gate and in desperation, praying with all her might, Hermione bounded to the gates, which offered security and protection if she could only find a way to enter.

"_Alohomora!_" Hermione shouted, panic in her voice; she heard fierce growls behind her, and she imagined the hot breath of the wolf pack upon her. One or two wolves Hermione could stun easily, but she wouldn't have time to stun the entire pack before one of them attacked her, making escape the only option.

The gates sprang apart, and Hermione leaped into the small gap, not waiting for them to open entirely. Silently, Hermione performed spells to shut and re-lock the gates. Just as the gates creaked shut, a wolf ran into the black metal and injuring its nose, bounded away with a yelp. Outside the gates, the wolves continued to snarl, but Hermione heaved a sigh of relief and closed her eyes. She had evaded danger for the moment.

Mist fell lightly around her in the cool night air, and involuntarily, Hermione shivered. Rubbing her arms, she noticed the coldness of her hands. Well, she would have to conjure a fire, then. As she opened her eyes, raising her wand, Hermione paused. The dwelling in front of her was not a simple house – although with gates as massive and intricate as the ones behind her, Hermione realized she should have expected the impressive mansion – no, _castle_ – in front of her.

The castle's size reminded Hermione of Hogwarts, but unlike the castle that had been her home for seven years, this one had dark stone, and the grotesque statues lining the path to the main entrance caused Hermione to shiver again. She felt unwelcome even standing right inside the gate, but the chill now crept under her dress, and setting her face forward, chin lifted, Hermione marched up the path lined with thorny bushes and gargoyles. Someone here might now how to avoid the wolves when she left in the morning or (dare she hope it) even offer her resources to travel safely to the next town.

Climbing up the wet, stone steps, Hermione saw the majestic, but gloomy entrance. Flanked with granite gargoyles, the doors stood erect and peered down at her coldly. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek as she raised her hand into a fist. She certainly hoped that the master of the castle was friendlier than the exterior of his castle. Drawing up her courage, Hermione pulled out the onyx ring on the door and rapped loudly. With an uncomfortable creak, the left door opened, and with a small, nervous smile plastered on her face, Hermione stepped inside, removing the hood of her cloak.

She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light in the entrance hall. Her wand had dimmed after opening the gate, and it barely illuminated the space right in front of her. Biting her lip nervously, Hermione walked on the flagstone beneath her feet, trying to remain silent.

After a few moments, Hermione heard distant voices and saw a faint golden glow. Murmuring, "_Nox_," the wand extinguished, and she crept toward the sound and light.

"Now really, Cogsworth," a smooth voice said in flawless French, "you should know better than to enter the master's quarters uninvited." The speaker, clearly a male, spoke with slight amusement. Hermione imagined that the man was smirking.

"Lumiere," a nasally voice responded, the British accent marring his speech, "I wouldn't have entered the West Wing if you hadn't gone there first. Honestly, I only went to ensure that you and Babette didn't disturb the master."

Lumiere chuckled. "Well, _excusez-moi, mon amie_, but it is not _my_ fault that you do not know how to hide."

An irate Cogsworth replied, "Well, I never, in all my days thought I'd be mocked by a paraffin-headed pea brain!"

"Well, then, _mon amie_, we are on the same page. I never thought I would have to listen to an over-wound pocket watch!"

By now, the voices were much clearer, and Hermione could make out a candlestick on the table nearby, seeming to glare at the immobile clock next to it. Frowning, Hermione shook her head to clear out her hallucinations (she must be more tired than she thought), grabbed the candlestick, and began to search for the mysterious Monsieurs Lumiere and Cogsworth.

"_Bonjour monsieurs, je m'appelle Hermione_," she said clearly. "I have travelled through the woods and chased by a pack of wolves, I ended up here. I apologize for interrupting your conversation, but I need to see the master of this castle."

"_Mon dieu_," a voice murmured next to her. Hermione frowned.

"Who said that?" she called.

She felt a faint tapping on her shoulder. "Over here," a voice called, but as Hermione twisted around, she saw no one, and she felt a faint warmth rise to her cheeks. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she said, "_Excusez-moi, monsieur_, but I do not see you."

"Look to your right, _mademoiselle_," the voice, which Hermione now recognized as Monsieur Lumiere's, said. She did so, only to see the candelabra in her hand. The middle candle, she noticed, had eyes, a long, protruding nose, and a cheeky smile. The candle winked.

"'Allo," he said, grinning. Hermione's eyelids fluttered in shock, and in her surprise, she dropped the candelabra. With an 'oof!' he fell to the floor and began dusting himself off. Hermione stared at the floor, pulling out her wand again.

"_Lumos maxima!_" Her bluish wand-light brightened the area, and Hermione could see the candelabra squinting at her. The clock she had seen on the table now hopped toward the candelabra and tilting his wooden head, looked at Hermione.

"It's a girl," he muttered to Lumiere.

"_Très bien, espèce d'idiot_," the wax face replied, sarcasm in his eyes. "Of course it's a girl."

"But she may be the one who-"

"_Oui_, Cogsworth, we shall discuss that later!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, staring at the pair of household objects. She felt a bit hopeless since the 'monsieurs' were nothing more than wax and wood. They couldn't possibly help her find Maurice.

"Well, I'll be on my way then," she said slowly, turning away from the two. "I need to find a friend of mine, and since you're unable to help me…"

"Wait, _mademoiselle_! I'm sure we can help you," Lumiere cried, and she heard metal clinking against the stone as he hopped toward her. "We shall ask the master if you can stay the night, and then sometime tomorrow… or later in the week, we shall take you to your friend. He has carriages of a sort, and he can protect you from the wild beasts."

"Yes," said Cogsworth, a gleam of hope in his eye, "we insist you stay the night. Tomorrow when the birds are singing and the sun is shining, it will be much easier and safer for you to travel in the forest."

Hermione looked at the two men – objects – things, well whatever they were, and with a sigh, she nodded her head. "Very well," she agreed. "However, I should like to meet the master of the castle first."

Lumiere looked uncomfortable. "Mademoiselle, that is not a good idea, you see the master has a bit of a temper, and he doesn't look kindly on-"

"Intruders," Cogsworth supplied.

Lumiere glared. "_Guests_, Cogsworth. Mademoiselle Hermione is a _guest_."

At that moment, Hermione heard a low, fierce growl from behind her. She shivered involuntarily and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She looked at Lumiere, whose waxy face now glistened with liquid paraffin. She twisted around to see what the two were staring at, but she saw only darkness.

"Oh, Master," Cogsworth began to say in a falsely bright tone, his mustache trembling, "how wonderful it is to see you, and must I say you're looking quite-" A ferocious roar caused Cogsworth to stop speaking and cling to Hermione's dress.

Wary, Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a silent incantation so that light flooded the area. She gasped. On the stairs, only feet away, stood a monstrous beast, and Hermione stood still, her wand stiff in her hand. Her magic would not be any good against this grotesque creature; he was nearly as large as Hagrid. Half-man, half-beast, his piercing blue eyes narrowed, and his dark, thick fur quivered in rage.

The Beast growled, "Who are you and what are you doing in my castle?" He stared with suspicious and accusing eyes at Hermione, and painfully, she swallowed the venomous words that she threatened to vomit.

"My name is Hermione," she said in a clear, if shaking voice, "and I was travelling through the woods when a wolf pack began to chase me. To escape them and my death, I entered your gates and sought sanctuary."

"I do not offer you _sanctuary_. You are an intruder, a trespasser, probably a _thief_," the Beast spat, now on all fours on the stairs. He leaped and stood only a meter from Hermione, glaring at her with a growl.

Gripping her wand, Hermione glowered back. "Well, then," she said in a cold voice, "I'll just leave." She turned around and began to stomp across the stony corridor back toward the door. As she reached the entrance, she heard Lumiere and Cogsworth, clacking across the ground.

"Master, please, she might be _the_ girl. Don't send her from the castle."

"_Oui, monsieur_, she may be our last hope."

Another low, irritated growl, and she saw the swish of the Beast's cape as he circled around her. As Hermione reached to pull open the door, she saw that the Beast blocked the entrance, standing against it, a look of desperation quickly covered by annoyance and anger in his pale eyes.

"Let me through," Hermione said, a cold stare in her usually warm brown eyes, "I should leave. It was a mistake coming here." The Beast, however, did not budge. Hermione began to grow impatient and crossed her arms against her chest.

"What do you want from me?" she asked.

The Beast glared at the floor, and with his fangs gritted, spat, "I want you to stay the night. I'm offering you sanctuary until tomorrow… and longer if you need it," he added after Lumiere nudged him. He looked at Hermione, irritation clear from his haughty sniff. She stared at him icily, still gripping her wand.

"You're _very_ convincing," she replied at last, raising her eyebrows in condescension.

Silence echoed in the corridor.

"Well, mademoiselle," Lumiere said after a moment, "perhaps you would like to see your room, _oui_? Cogsworth and I shall escort you, and the master will retire for the evening." As Hermione began to follow the clock and candelabra away from the stone doors, the Beast bounded away to the other side of the castle, his maroon cape swirling as he fled the entrance hall.

"Please feel free to explore the castle," Lumiere said to Hermione as he continued to hop. Even in the dim light, Hermione could see that the staircase they were climbing was magnificent with a plush crimson carpet beneath them.

"However," said Cogsworth in a clipped voice, "do not go to the West Wing of the castle. Your rooms are on the east side of the castle as are the library and the gardens."

Hermione turned to the clock, distracted from looking at her surroundings. "What's in the West Wing?"

"The master's private quarters, _mademoiselle_," Cogsworth said, now polishing himself as they walked.

Hermione remained silent, unsure what to think, as they came to a narrow hall. They walked to the end and Lumiere gestured to the door with one of his hand-candlesticks. "This, Mademoiselle Hermione, is your room while you stay with us." Turning the crystal knob, Hermione pushed open the heavy oak door, and gasped in amazement at her room.

A large king-sized bed with a gauzy periwinkle canopy greeted her, and the lush navy blue carpet underfoot comforted her aching feet. A vanity stood against the wall where the door was, and an armoire stood against the opposite wall. Hermione noticed vaguely that the armoire expanded and contracted, as though it was breathing. She looked around the rest of the room and saw ornate scrollwork on the walls, expensive paintings, and gilded furniture. She sank to the bed, overwhelmed, and continued to stare around. Lumiere and Cogsworth hopped into the room behind her.

"Mademoiselle Hermione," Lumiere began from his spot on the floor, "we hope you will be happy here with us. Please sleep as long as you need to, and the master requests your presence for a light lunch at noon." He glanced at the two French doors over by the armoire. "It is almost dawn, so if you need more sleep, _mademoiselle_, we simply ask that you join the master for dinner instead."

Hermione nodded, and silently, the two servants took leave of her and hopped out the door.

Standing up to close the door to the room, Hermione glanced at the French doors opposite her. Framed with the same gauzy material from her canopy, the windows in the doors let in a pale golden-blue light. Frowning, she walked over to the doors, opened them, and stepped outside into the crisp morning air.

Standing on a balcony that overlooked the gardens, Hermione could see a fountain beneath her, spewing glassy water from a mermaid's mouth, and an intricate maze of hedges that surrounded it. She sighed with contentment, but the sigh turned into a yawn, and she stretched as the sun peeked over the horizon, a deep crimson, with orange and gold at its edges.

As she rubbed her eyes, Hermione stared at the scarlet fireball, sleep threatening to overcome her. With another yawn, she turned from the balcony and entered her bedroom, shutting the doors behind her. She had left her satchel and wand on the bed. Pushing them off, she undressed, and within a moment, had fallen asleep.

Birds began chirping outside, their usually somber song filled with hope and joy.

* * *

**FRENCH:**

_mon amie = my friend_

_Très bien, espèce d'idiot = very good, you idiot.  
_


	9. My Heart Keeps Singing

_A/N: I apologize for the delay in updating; I have a good reason, I promise! I was doing lots of research (i.e. I reread all seven Harry Potter books and referred to the Harry Potter wikia site). As such, I have made minor alterations in the other eight chapters, but I strongly recommend reading the end of chapter seven, as I changed it quite a bit._

_Just so that everyone is aware, I altered the timeline, so the story begins in late March 2000. According to wikia, Victoire wouldn't have been born until May 2, 2000 or 2001 – so I pushed everything back two years… not that this really affects anything, except everyone's age._

_Also, before I let you read, I want to thank everyone who has reviewed, added this story to their favorites or has put this on alert. I have been amazed by the response this story has received, and I'm glad that you guys like it. Please continue to review; I like hearing from my readers! :)  
_

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9. My Heart Keeps Singing

When Hermione awoke, a bright white light filtered through her doors. Yawning, she stretched her back, her fingers extended, clawing the air. As her body settled, she glanced around the room, and her eyes landed on an ornate, slightly ajar, white door that she had missed that morning in her exhaustion. Standing up, Hermione walked over to the east wall and pushed the door open.

Inside, a large stone chamber pot sat to the left (Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust at the very sight of it), and an enormous porcelain tub with bronze, clawed feet stood against the opposite wall. At the very back wall, a basinful of cool water perched on top of a white, wooden stand. Small lavender hand towels sat to the right, as well as fluffy washcloths and bath towels. With a small smile, Hermione closed the door behind her, and dipping a washcloth into the basin, she brought it to her face and sighed with contentment.

As the cool water tickled her face, Hermione's brain started functioning more fully, and she looked up suddenly; she had something important that she needed to do… and the anxiety that had attacked her the previous night now came in waves upon her. Maurice was in a strange town, all alone, without proper housing. The knowledge threatened to suffocate her as she stood there in the pristine bathroom, but Hermione fought against cloaked, black Guilt, retrieved her wand from the bedroom and conjured a Patronus to send to Maurice with the message that she was safe in the castle and would come for him shortly.

Sitting down on the colossal bed, Hermione sighed as the silver otter swam off through the open window. She wished she could leave the castle right now to search for Maurice – in theory, she could disapparate to the edge of the castle and never return – but Hermione, if nothing else, was faithful, and she had promised Lumiere that she would dine with the master. As a result, Hermione thought grimly, she would need to pass another night in the castle before she could begin looking for Maurice.

The door to her left opened, disturbing the train of Hermione's thought. Upon a silver cart sat a porcelain teapot and a chipped teacup along with a sugar bowl, a small container of milk, and a plate of scones.

"Hello, dearie," the teapot said in French, though her accent was clearly British. "I thought you might like a spot of tea." A black coat-stand wheeled in the silver cart over to Hermione.

"How very kind of you," Hermione replied in English, slightly uneasy that a teapot was talking to her. "Thank you very much."

The teapot tilted its head to the side. "Well, if English is your native tongue," she replied, "We've no objection speaking it to you as it's our first language as well. My name is Mrs. Potts, dear, and this boy here," she tapped the cup beside her with her spout, "is my son, Chip."

"Hiya!"

Hermione frowned, pursing her lips as she looked at Chip and his mother, finally deciding to ask a question that had plagued her since the previous evening. "Pardon me, but how is it that you are even able to talk? I've seen complicated magic before; I've even performed some of it myself, but never have I seen humans transfigured into household items that could talk, nor have I seen household items charmed with the ability to talk."

Mrs. Potts looked taken aback. "Well, dearie, you certainly are intelligent. I never imagined that someone would deduce that we were enchanted objects so quickly."

"Well, I mean, it's obvious, isn't it? Even in the wizarding world, teapots and clocks don't talk… so it must be a very powerful enchantment. It's just something I've never encountered."

"So, you're a wizard?" Chip asked. He seemed to be hopping up and down from excitement.

Hermione smiled. "I'm a witch," she corrected gently.

"Oh, neat," said Chip, his eyes growing wider. "Can you do magic? Can you break the spell?" His eyes were blue marbles now, alight with hope.

"Of course I can do magic," Hermione said. She picked up her wand and tapped Chip so that he grew larger. Tapping him once more, he shrunk to his usual size. "As for reversing an enchantment, I'm not sure I can; it depends on what kind of spell it is and how powerful the caster was."

Chip's grin faltered.

"Would you like your tea, dear?" Mrs. Potts prompted. "It's getting cold."

Hermione looked at the teapot. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry." Setting her wand aside, Hermione poured Mrs. Potts into Chip, added milk and sugar and sipped her tea. It was slightly disconcerting, she found, to drink from a cup that had spoken to you only moments before. It was even more disturbing, she realized, to drink from a cup that kept trying to talk to you while you were enjoying tea from it.

"So, Hermione," Chip asked as she drank her tea, "do you think you could reverse the enchantment on the castle?"

"Chip!" his mother reprimanded. "Hold your tongue! Miss Hermione is trying to enjoy her tea, and that's hard to do without you speaking out every five seconds!"

Hermione put Chip down. "Oh, I don't mind," she said, a bit untruthfully. "I think I've actually had enough tea for now. Thank you, Chip."

"You're welcome. So, Hermione-"

"Well, we best be off," Mrs. Potts said loudly. "C'mon, Chip. Let's head back to the kitchens."

"But, Mama-"

"Not another word, Chip." Mrs. Potts cleared her throat, and the coat-rack, which had been standing right inside Hermione's room while she drank her tea, now walked over to the silver cart and pushed it out of the room, shutting the door behind itself. Hermione could still hear Chip whining to his mother, and Mrs. Potts' adamant replies that they 'would discuss this later' as the coat-rack rolled them down the hall.

As Hermione sat alone in her bedroom, she couldn't help wondering about what Mrs. Potts and Chip had been talking about. Obviously, they were under some enchantment, and Hermione was willing to guess that someone had transfigured them from humans into household objects. The same must be true, then, for Lumiere and Cogsworth…

A knock on the door disturbed Hermione's ponderings, but she called out, "Come in!" The black spindly coat-rack entered, followed by Lumiere, Cogsworth, and a feather duster.

"_Bonjour_, _mademoiselle_," said Lumiere. "Dinner will be served promptly at six this evening. It is half past four right now."

"Yes, thank you," huffed Cogsworth, glaring at Lumiere. "I do believe as Head of the Household, it is my duty to inform our guest about dinner?"

Lumiere shrugged. "Then by all means, Cogsworth, tell the lady what she already knows."

The hands of his clock, which served as his mustache, started trembling in annoyance. "Anyway, Mademoiselle Hermione, the master requests your presence half an hour before we serve dinner if that will be suitable."

Hermione nodded, looking down at her dirty and wrinkled green dress. "Well, I'll change into one of my other dresses then."

"Did someone say _dresses_?" The heavy wardrobe waddled from the opposite side of the room to where Lumiere, Cogsworth, the coat-rack, and Belle were; she trilled the last word in a high soprano.

Staring, Hermione nodded. Even after seeing Lumiere, Cogsworth, Chip, Mrs. Potts, and the feather duster, she still found it upsetting to see a new object that could move and talk.

"Oh, well, then you'll simply have to borrow one of mine! Back in the day, I used to be the Royal Opera Singer, and I used to wear all the latest fashions when I performed. But now, my vanity has turned me into a vanity." She chuckled at her joke. "And now, none of these dresses will fit my figure. In fact, I can't even get through the door."

"_Merci_," Hermione said.

"Oh, and I am Madame Grande de la Bouche," the wardrobe said as she fluttered open her drawers, only to reveal several moths. She blushed. "Oh, how _embarrassing_… well, here we are… I think this would look ravishing on you!"

Madame Grande de la Bouche withdrew a pale raspberry silk dress with a velvety crimson skirt and matching sleeves that would end at her elbows. Hermione lifted a hand to the material, and it was so soft. She smiled up at the Madame, who returned the grin.

"Well, then," said the feather duster, "we must get you ready for dinner. All the men must leave! Out Lumiere, Cogsworth… and you too," she said, glaring at the coat-rack. "We will call you back when she is ready for her hair to be done."

* * *

It was 5:36, and the Beast paced up and down the smooth marble floor of the parlor. For the occasion, he no longer wore the tattered pants that he'd worn for the last nine years, not that the girl was likely to notice.

Stopping in the track he was wearing on the floor, he saw Cogsworth enter, waddling quickly to him. He raised his eyebrows and bared his fangs, and his servant quivered.

"What is it, Cogsworth? Where is the girl?" the Beast asked, his eyes narrowed. Cogsworth continued to shake.

"Ahem… the ladies are running a bit behind schedule… so it will be... er… a few…"

The master growled. "She's not coming, is she?" he asked. He put his face in his hands. "I'm hideous. Of course she wouldn't want to come down to dinner," he muttered sullenly. A mirror hung on the wall, reflecting his coarse hair, long, twisted horns, and cruel teeth. With a loud roar, he picked up the mirror and smashed it on the ground.

"Now really, sire, you shouldn't say that… Mademoiselle Hermione will be down here in a few minutes..."

"You're only saying that to placate me," the Beast growled as he picked up an armchair and threw it across the room, where it hit the wall and smashed to pieces. "It's nine years into this foul enchantment, and not once has a girl ever come across the castle. The occasional traveler has always been male, and old, and ready to die. _Can you even imagine how I feel?_" he roared as he picked up another armchair.

"Sire, I must insist that you think rationally!" shouted Cogsworth. "Mademoiselle Hermione will-"

At his words, the door creaked open.

Hermione entered the parlor, her head held high but looking wary, especially as she surveyed the damage of the mirror and armchair. The Beast lowered the second chair fractionally and stared at the floor.

"I thought you weren't coming," he muttered as he placed the chair back on the marble.

With a curtsey, Hermione said, "I'm sorry. My hairstyle took longer than anyone anticipated." She felt so awkward – was she even supposed to curtsey? She had supposed that he must be nobility of that time since he was the master of the castle and the enchantment must have transfigured him too (unless he was simply a magical creature that could speak French, Hermione realized).

The Beast finally looked up at her, and his heart entered his throat – she was gorgeous. In the glow of the firelight, her hair shimmered golden, auburn, and warm brown. A ribbon held part of her hair back, and the rest of her hair floated around her shoulders in large, smooth curls. The raspberry silk accented her slim waist and her pale skin. Her wide brown eyes made her look innocent, and if possible, even more beautiful. He couldn't think of anything to say.

"Would you like me to repair the mirror and armchair?" Hermione asked politely after a few moments, still standing in the doorway. Having the Beast stare at her without saying anything made her extremely uncomfortable; she preferred to be doing something.

"I don't think that's possible," he replied staring at the floor again and still muttering, so low this time that Hermione didn't hear him.

Taking his silence as a 'yes,' Hermione casted a silent '_Reparo!_' and both the broken mirror and the armchair reassembled themselves. The mirror flew back onto the wall over by Hermione, and the chair scooted itself over by the Beast.

Staring at her, flabbergasted, the Beast asked, "How did you do that?"

"Oh," Hermione said, matter-of-factly, "I'm a witch. Since it's only the mid-eighteenth century, I doubt the French Ministry of Magic is strictly enforcing the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, so I think it's allowable that I perform magic here. Besides, I don't really think you're Muggles, since you're all under some kind of enchantment already – and, anyway, if the Ministry didn't prevent this kind of large-scale enchantment, I doubt my Reparo charm will cause any problem."

She said this all very quickly, and the Beast's head began to spin; he hardly processed any of the information that she had told him. With a grunt, he sat down in the armchair that she had just repaired. Hermione crossed the room and joined him, sitting across from him in the other chair.

"So, monsieur," Hermione asked, after she settled in her armchair, "What shall I call you?"

"Beast will be fine."

"No," Hermione insisted, "I want to call you by your name."

"My… my name?" Ever since the enchantment had fallen upon the castle, the Beast tried not to remember his name – it was a painful reminder of his past, and he was simply amazed that this had been the first question out of his guest's mouth.

"Yes," she said, a touch of exasperation in her tone. "You must have a name, even if you are a beast… and if you were a human transfigured by the enchantment, then it's a pity if you don't still use your given name."

Suddenly the Beast grew stern. "How do you know about the enchantment?" he growled, his blue eyes piercing Hermione. She seemed unfazed.

"I'm a witch," she reminded him. "I know what magic looks like, and in all my years of study, I've never seen a talking teapot or candelabra, forcing me to conclude that your castle is under some kind of an enchantment, and a very powerful one at that."

The Beast grunted.

"My name," he said after several moments, "was Adam. I lived here with my mother and father but they passed away when I was very young, so the servants had to raise me. I became spoiled, and on my eleventh birthday, an old beggar woman arrived at the castle, asking for shelter in exchange for a red rose. I rejected the offer and shut the door in her face. She became a very beautiful enchantress and turned me into this hideous beast for my selfishness. The entire castle's staff became objects since I had treated them as such growing up, and even the castle became a gloomy place. I have been 'Beast' ever since," he ended bitterly, glaring at the fireplace.

Staring at her lap, Hermione thought about what the Beast had just said. It seemed like a horrible curse. "Isn't there any way to break the spell?" she asked.

"Yes," the Beast replied darkly, "there is, but the enchantress made it explicitly clear that I was not to reveal how to break the spell to anyone besides members of my staff. If I go against those orders, I will be stuck like this until I die."

Hermione bit her lip. The Beast may not be able to reveal the counter-enchantment to the castle's curse, but she was clever, and she would figure it out; then she could help Lumiere, Cogsworth, Mrs. Potts, Chip, and the Beast. Hesitantly, Hermione reached out her arm and placed it on his.

"I will help you break this enchantment," she said. "I don't know how yet, but I will."

The Beast looked up at her, hope in his eyes. "_Merci, mademoiselle. _That means a lot to me."

"Please," the brunette said, with a nervous smile, "call me Hermione."

"Hermione," the Beast said, smiling back, his fangs protruding. "That's a beautiful name."

Before Hermione could make any reply, however, the doors behind them opened, and Cogsworth entered, clearing his throat. "Dinner is served," he said, before waddling out of the parlor and closing the white doors behind him.

"Shall we?" Hermione asked as she stood up, careful not to trip in her gown.

Nodding, the Beast stood up as well, offering his arm to her, which she took, though it was slightly awkward as he was so tall and furry. As they walked to the dining hall arm in arm, the Beast felt the flicker of hope that had lit in his heart swell and shine with song.


	10. Part of Your World

_A/N: Okay, so to make up for my lack of updating in the past two months, here is another chapter. I thrive off reviews, so please let me know what you liked, or what you think I should change about the chapter. I do listen to your opinions, and I try to follow your advice. _

_PLEASE REVIEW! It takes you two minutes, and it makes me churn out chapters more quickly. :)

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10. Part of Your World

While Hermione stared at the blazing cottage in horror, Belle had lain in one of the guest rooms at Grimmauld Place, unable to sleep. After shopping the entire day, Belle was exhausted, but her mind continued to travel to the moment that she landed in the shop and tried to escape. She fell into a dreamlike state, and gruesome beetles and rotting fingers with yellow nails plagued her thoughts. Waking up in a sweat, Belle splashed her face with cold water and after putting on a robe, stood up and left her room.

When she entered the living room, she saw a crop of black hair, and Belle smiled. "'Arry," she called quietly as she sat on the sofa beside him. "I see zat… zat…"

"I couldn't sleep either?" Harry asked with a tired smile. He stirred the brown liquid in the mug that he held. "No, I couldn't sleep." He mimed putting a pillow beneath his head and snoring. Belle smiled.

"I… I… no sleep. I am tired…" Belle trailed off, unsure what to say. Her broken English, she had learned, was still far better than Harry's French. She shrugged helplessly, and Harry nodded, seeming to understand.

"I used to have bad dreams too," Harry said, staring at his mug of hot chocolate, the liquid still swirling around, "I used to dream that my friends and family were being hurt, and I would dream about a… a wizard named Voldemort who wanted to kill me." Belle could see anger in his tight jaw and furrowed brows. Even his eyes glinted. Although she had no idea what Harry had confessed to her, she nodded, sympathetic.

"Well," Harry said after a moment of silence, "I should probably head back up to bed. I want to visit my godson, Teddy, tomorrow since I have another day off from the Auror's Office. Would you like to join me, Belle?"

Belle cocked her head to the side. "I… sorry, 'Arry… _mais je ne comprends pas._"

Harry's eyebrows knitted together again. "You don't…. understand?" Belle stared at him. Harry sighed.

"Right then, I guess I'll take you with me. Ginny has to leave tomorrow morning – the Harpies start practicing again on Monday, and Ron is scheduled at the Auror Office, so no one will be here anyway." Harry glanced at Belle. "_Bonsoir_, Belle," he said as he stood up and walked away. Belle nodded mutely and stared at the fireplace. Watching the flames lick the wood, she fell into a trance and without realizing it, fell into a dreamless sleep on the sofa as wood crackled in the background.

The next morning, Belle woke to someone shaking her. As she opened her bleary eyes, she saw Harry smiling down at her. With a yawn, she sat up on the couch and looked at him, her head tilted to the side.

_" Bonjour_, Belle. Right then, I told Andromeda that we'd be at her flat at ten-thirty this morning." He glanced at his watch, "It's nearly ten now, so we should get going soon."

Knitting her eyebrows together, Belle tried to summon as much English as she knew. "_Excusez-moi_, 'Arry… I no… understand? Eez zat 'ow you say?"

Running a hand through his untidy black hair, Harry sighed and spoke slowly and clearly. "Belle, we need to leave soon. Please get dressed."

" 'Arry," Belle repeated, with more frustration this time, "I still no understand."

Harry disappeared and returned with one of the dresses that Belle had gotten yesterday, and he tossed it to her and tapped his watch. She broke out into a smile, finally realizing what Harry meant, and with a, "_Merci_, 'Arry, I understand now," she walked back to the guest room and dressed for the day.

After she had pulled on a simple blue dress and plaited her hair, Belle walked to the entrance hall to find Harry waiting, leaning against the wall. He looked up with a quick smile, strode over to the fireplace and threw some Floo powder in it.

"Belle, could you say 'The Three Broomsticks' for me? I want to be sure that you don't go to the wrong grate… or I guess you could say, '_Les Balais Trois_' if that's easier," Harry amended after picking through the French-English dictionary.

"_Les Balais Trois_," Belle said clearly, and Harry nodded giving her permission to try saying that in the fireplace. She stepped into the green flames, repeated her destination, and felt the familiar whooshing sensation. A moment later, she landed in a different fireplace, which was clearly in a side room of some sort. From a nearby room, Belle could hear raucous laughter and loud voices. Brushing the soot from her dress, Belle strode from the room, pushing open the door.

She was in a pub of some kind, she realized, as she surveyed her surroundings. Round tables and loud guests with half-empty mugs filled the room, and to her left, in the distance, stood a long bar, where a curvaceous barista wiped down the dark wood bar with a dingy white rag. Belle walked a few steps forward, her eyes still roving around, when she bumped into someone.

"_Je suis désolé_," Belle murmured as she grabbed the person in front of her to keep from falling backward. As she looked up, Belle realized that she was looking into the face of none other than Monsieur Malfoy. Behind him, a slim, pale, blonde-haired woman looked over the edge of her nose, irritated at the hold up.

"Is that a friend of yours, Draco?" the woman asked, although Belle hadn't the faintest idea what she'd said, as Monsieur Malfoy shook his head and pushed Belle away from him. Now that Belle was sturdy on her feet, she let go with a grateful smile and took a step back – only to tread on someone else's toes. These arms caught her, and as Belle twisted her head around, she realized that Harry was holding her by the elbows.

"Draco… Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said, with a slight nod to each of them. His guarded eyes showed his distrust, and he seemed to hold Belle a bit tighter before he let go, as though he was afraid that Monsieur Malfoy would hurt her. This confused Belle greatly. She gently pushed herself away from Harry and stood to his right, looking at the pale-haired man as he stared indifferently at Harry.

"Potter," Malfoy replied as his head twitched on his neck. From behind him, Narcissa stared coolly at Harry.

"You're here to see Andromeda, I suppose?" she asked, condescendingly. "We were just there… had a lovely chat."

"Really?" said Harry, nonplussed. "And I suppose the fact that these days having an estranged 'Muggle-loving' sister might tarnish your reputation isn't part of the reason you're suddenly visiting her after thirty years?"

A tinge of pink crept into Narcissa's cheeks. "It was her duty to marry well."

"She did," Harry said firmly. "Ted Tonks was a wonderful man."

While Monsieur Malfoy's mother and Harry talked, Belle snuck a glance at the blonde-haired man. He looked at her, and her eyes darted away as a warm flush covered her neck.

"You should watch who you argue with, Potter," Draco drawled finally, as he flicked a piece of lint off his robes, "The Malfoys are still a prominent family in wizarding society."

Harry looked ready to argue again, so Belle put a hand on his arm to calm him, and said, " 'Arry… Monsieur Malfoy…" Unfortunately, her lack of knowledge about English only permitted her to say that. Harry calmed down, and the corners of Monsieur Malfoy's mouth twitched.

"Got a new girlfriend, Potter? I have to say, this one's prettier than Weaslette... no freckles or atrocious red hair," he said with a smirk, and Harry began to glare at him.

"For your information, Malfoy," Harry said coldly, "Belle is not my girlfriend, and I'm still with Ginny, so watch your mouth." Turning away from the two purebloods, he climbed a set of stairs, and Belle realized that she should follow.

Before she turned to go after Harry, she said to Monsieur Malfoy in French, her hands on her hips and a firm look in her eyes, "I may not have known what you said, but I do know it upset Harry, and he has been nothing but wonderful, generous, and kind to me. If you insult my host, you insult me. _Au revoir_, Monsieur Malfoy, and I hope the next time we meet that it will be under friendlier circumstances." Then she stomped upstairs after Harry.

With his hands shoved into his pockets, leaning up against the wall, Harry asked, "Belle, how did you meet Malfoy in the first place?" He'd been surprised at the familiarity between the two of them, and he wanted to make sure that Malfoy hadn't hurt or offended the girl.

Although Harry spoke clearly and quite slow, he needed to repeat the question twice more before Belle understood. She frowned, trying to figure out how to express her thoughts in English.

" 'E… 'e was in Noak-toorn Alley," Belle said at last. "'E…'e… 'ow you say…'e 'elped me."

"He didn't hurt you?" Harry asked.

Belle stared at him blankly, so Harry sighed.

"Well, we might as well knock on the door so Andromeda knows that we're here," he said after another moment of silence. Harry raised a fist to the wooden door, banged loudly. Belle heard a dull scuffle, and then a middle-aged woman opened the door a crack. Her scowling face lit up immediately.

"Oh, it's you, Harry," the woman said. "I thought it was Narcissa and Draco again." She made a face and pushed the door wide open, inviting them in. "And who is your friend, Harry?"

"Andromeda, this is Belle," Harry said, gesturing to the brunette. "She's staying at Grimmauld Place as a guest."

"I see," Andromeda said, giving a small smile to Belle. "Teddy's in the other room. Let me get him."

Belle frowned when she first saw Teddy run into the room. He had short, turquoise hair and right before her eyes, he made a face as if in concentration, and his hair immediately became black and untidy like Harry's.

"Hai-wee!" the little boy shouted as he hugged his godfather around the knees. Belle giggled at his excitement.

"Wotcher, Teddy," Harry said as he ruffled the boy's hair.

Andromeda smiled fondly on the two of them as Harry bent down to return Teddy's hug. Belle stood to the side, looking on with the distinct feeling that she was intruding.

"Teddy," the older woman said to her grandson after Harry had given him a big hug, "this is Belle."

Cocking his head to the side, he trotted over to Belle, squished his face together and turned his hair chocolate brown like hers.

"That means he likes you," Harry whispered to Belle, who nodded – and somehow – she understood what Harry had said. Maybe it was his tone, but she knelt on the floor and gave Teddy a hug too.

The two of them stayed all afternoon with Andromeda and Teddy. Teddy kept changing his hair color between Harry's untidy black, Belle's rich brown, and his signature turquoise. Occasionally a sleek, pale blonde would emerge, but it always disappeared quickly.

After speaking with Andromeda a bit, Belle and Harry discovered that she spoke a bit of French; she, Narcissa, and Bellatrix had all taken French lessons as children, and although she was a bit rusty speaking it, Belle felt more comfortable right away, even if Mrs. Tonks did conjugate her verbs incorrectly now and again. Belle continued speaking in English as much as she could, however – Andromeda looked confused by what Belle was saying in French on more than one occasion. They conversed about Hogsmeade and her family, the Blacks, while Harry played with Teddy on the floor.

"So, zis Draco Malfoy… eez your… nefoo?" Belle asked when the conversation finally came around to the Malfoys.

"_Oui_," she said in French. "Teddy is his second-cousin, and my daughter – Teddy's mother – was his first cousin, but I don't think he ever met her. After I married Ted, my whole family shunned me."

"And now the Malfoys are trying to get back into your good graces?" Harry asked Andromeda, his voice tight. "I saw that they stopped by earlier."

Sighing, she nodded. "I think they're trying to prove to the Ministry that they've changed. Of course, Lucius absolutely refuses to have any contact with me – ever since I've moved to Hogsmeade though, Cissy and Draco have tried to make amends. In fact," she said, biting her lip thoughtfully, "Draco was the one who suggested coming over in the first place."

This piqued Harry's interest. "Really? Narcissa isn't dragging him along?"

Andromeda shook her head. "I think the Battle at Hogwarts scared him, and he also realized that one of his cousins died without him ever knowing her. He owled me one day a few months ago once I'd moved here with Teddy asking if they could stop by. I hesitated at first because of Teddy, but Cissy assured me that they had good intentions." She snorted.

"They haven't hurt Teddy, have they?" Harry asked sharply.

Laughing, Andromeda shook her head again. "Harry, I appreciate your concern, but no, they haven't done anything to harm Ted. I just don't think their intentions are quite as pure as they're letting on, that's all."

During the conversation, which Andromeda and Harry had conducted in English, Belle had moved to the floor by Teddy and was playing Peek-a-Boo with him. Despite her knowledge of English, Belle was listening closely – not with her ears this time, but with her heart – and she understood that Monsieur Malfoy and his mother had suffered, and they were trying to heal themselves. She would tell Harry this later, she thought.

All too soon, the daylight had faded from the flat's windows and although Andromeda insisted they stay for dinner, Harry declined. "We've already stayed for lunch and for tea," he argued. "No, we'll be going, but we had a wonderful time, and thank you for your hospitality." In a flurry of hugs and kisses, Harry and Belle said their goodbyes, shutting the door behind them.

Once they had returned to Grimmauld Place, Ron was waiting for them in the parlor, playing Wizard Chess against himself. He straightened up as soon as he saw Belle come through the Floo.

"How was your day?" he asked loudly and slowly. Belle felt a twinge of annoyance for him shouting at her, but she brushed it away.

"Eet was… good," she said lamely as she brushed the soot off her dress.

"Harry, Fleur called," Ron said as his friend stepped out of the fireplace. Belle looked up with interest. "She thought Belle would like to stay at Shell Cottage for a couple weeks so she can improve your English more comfortably."

Harry smiled. "I think that's a great idea – Bill is away during the day at Gringotts, isn't he, and Fleur is probably on maternity leave now, so she's probably lonely. I'm sure she'd like the company."

"Really?" Ron said, and he looked unenthused. He glanced at Belle who was fingering the Black family tapestry on the wall. "You really think it would be good for her?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'm sure Belle would love it. I'll go talk to Fleur and see when she and Bill want Belle to come over." He left the room.

Ron nodded absently, looking at Belle again. She had finally become part of their world – Ron had _just_ gotten used to having her around – and now she would be leaving, and so would his physical reminder of Hermione.

Biting his cheek to keep from shouting, he stormed upstairs to his room and punched the wall until blood trickled down the grey wood. After crying out in pain, Ron sat back on his bed and closed his eyes, wishing Hermione would return soon.

* * *

**FRENCH:**

_mais je ne comprends pas = but I don't understand_

_Bonsoir = good evening/night_

_Je suis désolé = I'm sorry  
_


	11. Who is the Monster and Who is the Man?

_A/N: My sincere apologies for the four months that I've gone without an update. I know it's not an excuse, but I've been terribly busy with my first term of college. However, I now have my own laptop, so I should be updating more frequently. Thanks to all of you for your patience and loyalty. Special thanks to those who sent reviews, or who added this story to their alerts or favorites; I really appreciate it. _

_NOTE: This chapter has been revised SIGNIFICANTLY as of January 10, 2011. Thank you to vamp1987 who pointed out some things that made me reconsider how the plot was progressing. I hope it's still enough fluff, but it's kind of dark and angsty. _

_Last time: Hermione found her way to the Beast's castle, only to find that the master was very angry. However, with persuasion from Lumiere and Cogsworth, the Beast offered to let Hermione stay in his castle as long as she wanted. He asked to have dinner with her, and when he saw her, he thought she was beautiful. Hermione told the castle staff that she was a witch, and Adam (the Beast) revealed that he was a human under an enchantment. Upon learning this and hearing Adam's story, she promised to help him break then enchantment. _

* * *

11. Who is the Monster, and Who is the Man?

As the first golden sunbeams rose above the horizon, Hermione sighed and leaned her body over the stone railing on the balcony. She turned her head to the left, watching the sunrise, thinking about last night.

When the Beast had first wanted to throw her from the castle, Hermione hadn't seen any of his humanity, but last night, as she spent time talking to Adam – that's what she tried to call him in her head – she could see the human that had once been. As they sipped their soup, it became painfully obvious, however, that he wasn't used to human company and had lost the ability to use utensils. In an effort to make him feel less uncomfortable, Hermione tipped her bowl back slightly into her mouth, and Adam followed her lead and did the same. He even smiled at her, and Hermione gave him a small and hesitant smile back.

In between the courses, they talked about themselves. Mainly the Beast asked about Hermione's life, since his current one was dull (and definitely not something he wanted to either talk about or reflect on). Hermione had told him that she lived in England two and a half centuries into the future, in a part of London, and had traveled to France through a magical mirror. Adam seemed intrigued about the mirror, but Hermione only frowned when he asked how it worked.

"Well," she said thoughtfully, moving around her potatoes with her fork, "I'm not sure, exactly, of course, but I think it's a wormhole of some sort – perhaps wizards created a huge wormhole that spanned over two countries and hundreds of years, and used some magic to convert it from a tunnel to a mirror passage."

She had frowned for the rest of the third course, trying to work it out, promising herself that she would go to the library as soon as she returned to modern times, and she would learn exactly how the mirrors worked. Finally she asked the Beast – Adam, she corrected herself – what he did during the day.

"I mean, you must find that you have lots of time to do things," Hermione said. Perhaps this hadn't been the best question; it would remind him of all the things he could be doing if he were human. She stared at her plate and ate her steak while Adam was silent.

"Mostly, I stay in my quarters and brood," he admitted finally, and his voice was dark and filled with self-loathing. "When I'm especially angry, I rip things to shreds – destroy family heirlooms – yell at my servants. Usually, I'm alone with no one to talk to."

A wave of guilt flowed through Hermione. He was lonely – he hadn't had any guests for years – and she was planning to leave as soon as she could. Oh, how could she tell him about her duty to Maurice right now? Sitting quietly, Hermione cut up the remainder of her steak and forked it into her mouth.

Since last night, a battle had raged within Hermione – one that was no closer to settling itself than it was when it began at dinner the previous evening. Should she leave immediately to find Maurice, or should she remain her and break her promise to Belle's father – and Belle – to help a tortured and lonely man, to whom she had also pledged her help.

The sun continued to rise over the trees in the distance, turning the sky from a beautiful and fierce fuchsia to a pale orange before the entire golden sun had risen, and the sky above looked like a perfect periwinkle ceiling. Hermione sighed, stretching her arms high above her head as she lifted herself onto her toes, and she padded back into the bedroom, closing the French doors behind her.

To her surprise, Madame Grande de la Bouche was awake and waiting for Hermione when she returned. She looked excited, and the doors to her armoire kept opening and closing with a snap.

"So, my dear, what are you going to wear to breakfast this morning?" she asked, in a sing-song voice. "I have a most lovely green silk dress – I think it would be perfect." She pulled out a pale green dress, the very color of new tree leaves, and Hermione spread it out on the bed to look at it better. With golden stitching, little flowers and trails of ivy decorated the bodice. The skirt and sleeves, were a darker silk – the jeweled color of lush grass.

"It's beautiful," Hermione said with an appreciative smile. She pulled off her nightgown, did up her corset top, and pulled the dress on. Her curls from last night were a bit unruly but still pretty, so Hermione simply pulled some of them back with a gold ribbon. With a final glance in the mirror and a resigned sigh, she closed the bedroom door behind her and began to walk to the dining hall.

The Beast sat at the head of the table, already diving into a plate of what looked like bacon and eggs, some of it getting into his fur. Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or to be disgusted. Silently, she walked to the table and pulled out a chair a couple down from him. He finally looked up, a huge bite of eggs and bacon in his mouth, and with an embarrassed swallow, grinned sheepishly at Hermione.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Hermione," he said in a gruff growl. Hermione nodded her head, and the servants brought her silverware and a plate heaped full of toast, scrambled eggs and bacon.

"Adam," Hermione said slowly, as she poked at her food, "I need to leave your castle for a brief time." She had thought about this as she had gotten dressed and decided that leaving to fetch Maurice and to bring him back here would be the best idea.

The Beast looked at her sharply. Only one year remained until the curse became permanent, and Hermione wanted to leave. A pang of longing, regret, and hate coursed through him; he should have known this feeling of hope he had was too good to last.

"Let me explain," she continued as she smoothed out her dress. "When I traveled here from England, another girl, Belle, traveled the other way through the mirror into my world. She asked me to protect her father and stay with him while she was in England, but then I revealed myself as a witch and we both fled his cottage in order to survive. He went on ahead of me, and I became lost in the woods two nights ago. The wolves chased me here, but I have to find him. I have to keep the promise I made to Belle."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears as she recounted her story, and by the time she had finished, the Beast's anger had mellowed to pity. He couldn't help the bitterness that infiltrated his voice though, as he said, "What about the promise you made to me last night? Does that count for nothing? You promised that you would help me lift the enchantment."

"I know," she said miserably. "I had hoped that if I could bring Belle back through the mirror, then she and Maurice would be fine here, and I can return to help you look for a way to break the curse."

The Beast felt torn. On one hand, he hated the thought of Hermione leaving, but since she planned to return to the castle after she found this Maurice, perhaps… perhaps he could trust her, but he needed to be absolutely sure that she would come back to him.

"Promise me," he said suddenly, "that if I let you go, you'll come back. I need your word."

Hermione, who had been staring at her hands while Adam had been silent, now looked up at him. His blue eyes stared at her with a powerful intensity, and she felt a strange heat rise from her stomach.

"I promise," she said, looking at him. "I promise you Adam, that as soon as I find Maurice, I will return to the castle with him, and we will help you break the curse."

They stared at each other a moment before both looking away. Hermione felt oddly self-conscious, and started fiddling with her half-eaten eggs. The Beast sensed her discomfort and stood up.

"Come," he said, stretching out a paw, "I want to show you something before you leave."

Tilting her head to the side with her mouth pursed, Hermione nonetheless pulled her chair out from the table and held onto the Beast's furry arm as they walked down the corridor.

At long last, they reached a part of the castle that Hermione had not seen during her stay. Although the entire castle was gloomy, this part looked especially ill-cared for – thick dust covered the carpets and minimal furniture, and deep scratches adorned the dark grey walls, and the flames of the candles on the wall sputtered.

"Adam, where are we?" she asked at last, a note of fear in her voice, as he began to push open a door. She didn't have her wand on her – maybe he would harm her or maybe something else would. Hermione began running through possible plans of attack, when she heard her companion answer her:

"We are in the West Wing," the Beast said, as he turned to look down at the witch, bitterness clear in his expression. "I have never brought anyone but my servants here. Even they are forbidden to enter this part of the castle without my permission." With that response, he pushed the door fully open, and it creaked as it revealed a room, dimly lit from a window on the far side.

It took a moment for Hermione's eyes to adjust to the dark as she stepped into the room, but when she could see, she gasped.

Everything in the room was broken, damaged, gouged, scratched in some way. A broken bed-frame stood to the right, and on the left, a picture with huge tears in the canvas adorned the wall. Taking her arm of the Beast's, Hermione walked over to the painting, a curious look on her face. She held up the canvas to see the picture better, and her mouth opened in surprise.

It was a portrait, she could see, and though the subject in the painting looked arrogant and spoiled, she could see the same intense sapphire eyes that she looked at from across the breakfast table that morning. Upon this revelation, she turned around, and she saw that Adam was right behind her.

His face held so much pain and longing, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to comfort him. She crossed the short distance between them and wrapped her arms around his middle as far as they could stretch.

They only stood like that for a few moments before Hermione pulled away, but she tilted her face upward to look at the Beast.

"Thank you for showing me that," she said quietly. "I know how difficult this must be for you." She patted him on the arm and turned toward the entrance of the room.

"Hermione," Adam called as he stretched out a paw and placed it on her shoulder, "That's not what I wanted to show you." His mouth stretched into a smile, and Hermione blushed a faint pink.

"Oh," she said, "Well, by all means then." She walked to stand next to him. "What did you want to show me?"

The Beast crossed the room until Hermione noticed a bright pink glow emanating from what appeared to be a glass bell jar. As they grew closer, Hermione saw a fully open red rose underneath the jar, and realized it was the source of the light.

Gently lifting the glass jar from the rose, Adam touched the rose with a single claw. At that instant, a petal dropped to the table. He withdrew his hand and looked at Hermione, longing apparent in his expression.

"This rose," he murmured, "is the timekeeper of my curse. When the last petal drops on my coming birthday, the enchantment becomes permanent." Then, he looked back at the rose, silent.

Turning away from the rose, Hermione touched him lightly on the arm. "Adam, I'm so sorry that this happened to you. No one deserves this."

He faced her, bitter irony in his tight lips. "No, Hermione," he said, "I did deserve this. That's what makes it unbearable – if I can't find a way to reverse the enchantment, I'll have a permanent reminder of my selfishness."

"If you would just tell me how to break the enchantment–"

He shook his head, irritation becoming apparent. "I can't, Hermione. If I tell you how to break this curse, then I'll stay this way forever."

With a frustrated sigh, Hermione turned to the still uncovered rose and touched a petal with a single fingertip. Then, after a quick glance at the Beast, she replaced the glass cover and began to walk toward the entrance of the room.

"Come on," she said to his immobile form, "let's go outside and walk in the gardens and leave this gloomy room."

Silence.

"Adam," she said again, "why don't we go outside? It'll be so much nicer in the spring air."

No response.

"Adam–"

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!"

Hermione's eyes widened as his fierce roar. She inched closer to him. "Wh-what's wrong?"

He spun around, his eyes wild. "I am a _beast_, Hermione, a _monster_. I am hideous and covered with hair. Can you not see that?"

The witch felt the blood drain from her face, but she didn't back away. "I know what you are, Adam, and you are not a monster."

"_Of course_ I'm a monster," he spat. "I have fangs and–"

"No," she said emphatically, taking slow measured steps toward him, "you are not a monster. I met a monster when I arrived here – he would have raped me if I hadn't tried to make him unconscious. He wanted me to marry him without giving me any say in the matter. _He_ is the monster."

"Then what am I?"

A sincere expression on her face, Hermione said simply, "You are a man, a man who has convinced himself that he doesn't deserve hope or happiness."

She reached toward him and standing on her toes, stroked his face. Something in his stomach began to stir, and he stepped away.

Pulling her hand back, Hermione gave him a small smile. "Shall we go out into the gardens?"

He nodded. "I'd like that," he said, extending his arm. Resting her hand on it, they walked from the room together, as another petal fell.


	12. Just a Little Change

_A/N: __Please note that this chapter has undergone revision as of August 17, 2011. This may affect future chapters, so I strongly recommend that any old reader re-read the end of the chapter at the very least. Thank you. :)_

* * *

12. Just a Little Change, Small to Say the Least

"My dear Belle, have you forgotten me?" The words echoed inside her brain every time she slept and the wind rushed past her ear, every time she sat on the sand and the waves lapped at her toes.

_You… have… forgotten… me,_ the wind and the waves accused decidedly, and in those tense moments salt water ran down Belle's face as she pictured her father that she had left behind in France.

Where was he? Was he still safe at home? Belle longed to return to 12 Grimmauld Place to check – she hadn't thought in the whirlwind of planning for her to stay at Shell Cottage, but now she would be here for two weeks. Fleur needed her here, and Belle had only been here a day. With resignation, she wiped away her tearstains, stood up and walked up through the sand up to the house.

"Oh, Belle," Fleur said gaily in French as she opened the back door, "I was wondering when you would be coming back to the house. I am glad to see you."

Kissing her friend on both cheeks, Fleur urged her inside and began talking about what she had heard on the news. Belle nodded attentively, but as the minutes wore on, she began daydreaming, and a fierce youth with pale blonde hair had a starring role.

"Belle?" Fleur asked, waving her hand near the girl's face, "are you all right? You haven't been answering me for the last couple minutes."

Blushing, Belle nodded. "_Je suis désolé_, Fleur. I had my head in the clouds."

Fleur smiled. "It happens to all of us, _mon amie_, but Bill will be home soon, and dinner is almost ready, so let us prepare the table."

Bill soon arrived, pecking his wife on the cheek, and the three sat down to dinner. The couple flirted throughout dinner, glad to see one another again, and Belle – feeling uncomfortable – asked to be excused as soon as she had finished eating. Granted permission to do so, she headed into the chill evening air, the whitewashed door to the cottage squeaking shut behind her.

The sea spray and the dense humidity formed a thick fog around the cottage. Cautiously, Belle walked down to the ocean and sat in the sand, her knees against her chest, and closed her eyes. The image of her father swam before her, and the familiar tears stung her eyes before the torrent was released.

Moments, maybe even hours passed, but darkness had crept around her in any case. Belle still sat, staring into the ocean as though nothing had happened. Slowly, she stood up, stretching her back, and she began walking along the beach, mist clouding her path. Too saddened to panic, Belle continued wandering along the ocean's edge, the faint moonlight her only guide.

After a few moments, Belle still couldn't see the cottage. Worried, she began walking the other way – faster – following the contour of the ocean. She had simply chosen the wrong direction the first time.

Nearly ten minutes later, Belle saw a shape looming out of the mist, but she quickly realized it was too large to be Bill and Fleur's modest cottage – no, this was a mansion.

The large stone-grey house sat atop the cliff, and black, wrought iron gates stood in front of it. Rain began to descend, floating in the sky, but it came faster and faster as Belle hurried up the small stone path up to the manor. As Belle approached, she could see lights glinting from the inside. Someone must be home – maybe they would be kind enough to let her stay the night.

Pushing her way through the gates, Belle ran to the stoop of the mansion and pulled at the large brass knocker. Clang, clang, clang. Clang, clang, clang.

After a couple minutes – by which time Belle was rather wet – the door creaked open to reveal a small creature with bat-like ears.

"'Ello," Belle said, grimacing, "I en-tare?" She rubbed at her arms, indicating it was cold outside. With a frightened look, the bat-like creature shut the door with a quick click.

As the minutes passed, the air became colder, and Belle's shivers grew more violent. She knocked again, and the strange creature answered the door yet another time.

"P-p-pleeze," Belle said, wrapping her arms around her slender frame, "p-p-pleeze… pear-meet me en-tare?"

"Oh, Batty is getting in trouble, Batty is having to iron her ears…" the creature said, but she opened the door wider, and Belle stepped through, only to sink to the marble floor in cold and exhaustion. As she fell, she knocked over an end table, and a vase crashed to the ground.

"Batty," a stern voice called from inside the manor, "What is that loud noise?"

"Mistress' vase, sir," the creature replied, voice wavering, as she wrung her hands.

Footsteps echoed on the cold stone floor, and out of her fading vision, Belle could see a man with a shock of pale hair. Shaking her head, she looked up and saw Monsieur Malfoy.

"Batty," he said, "I thought I told you not to let the beggar woman in?" He raised an eyebrow. "She's probably a witch looking to scam the Malfoys with a sob story. Well, it won't work. Take her back outside."

He turned to face the opposite direction, when Batty spoke up, pointing to Belle's bedraggled and soaked form. "But, sir," she squeaked, "Batty was seeing this cold woman, sir, and was having pity on her."

"I really don't care, Batty," he said in a bored voice. "I don't want her here, and neither would my parents."

Trying to ignore the black at the edges of her vision, Belle shook her head and began speaking in French, "_Je suis désolé_, Monsieur Malfoy_de l'interruption… mais je suis froid et humide et a perdu. Puis-je… s'il vous plait… passer la nuit ici_?"

Malfoy's indifferent and cruel mask broke for a second, and his eyebrows rose slightly. "Belle?" he asked. He crossed the entryway and bent over for a moment. Realizing what he was doing, his back stiffened and he stood erect, the image of power and authority.

Shuffling to the side, his servant interjected meekly, "Master, Batty is not minding preparing a room for this woman. Batty is not minding in the least." The young Malfoy began to raise his hand, and Batty squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating pain – but it did not come.

With a sigh, Draco lowered his hand and began to extend it toward Belle, only to withdraw his assistance as she crawled to her knees and began to stand. Once she had climbed to her feet, she stared at him, anger glinting in her dark brown eyes.

"Monsieur Malfoy, I was outside… for nearly t-t-ten minutes, knock-k-king and shivering." Belle, now standing straight, looked at the man expectantly. Inside, a storm of emotions swirled in her heart, her stomach, and just as many thoughts swirled in her mind, but she locked the confused and hurt thoughts far away so that the blonde-haired man could not see.

Draco raised a single eyebrow before speaking in French. "Well, Mademoiselle, it is rare to have visitors at this hour, and I was in the study. I regret ordering my servant not to open the door, and I apologize for my rudeness. You may stay for the night, and Batty will show you to your room."

Turning around, he sighed and resisted the urge to cover his face with his hands. Naturally, the one person that had to come visit him late at night was _her_. He peered behind him and saw that Belle was still looking at him, even though Batty was tugging at the hem of her dress, urging the visitor to follow her.

He met her gaze, feigning indifference, and after raising her nose slightly, she looked away and walked after the house-elf. Draco listened to their footsteps on the stone, only moving from the corridor when all he could hear was the rain beating on the roof of the manor.

Walking toward his study, Draco began to process what had just occurred: _Belle_, of all people—of all women—had arrived at the Malfoy summer house. Damn, he needed alcohol. Draco pushed the door to his study open and found an unopened bottle of Firewhiskey – just what he needed.

Plopping down on the dark leather sofa across from the stone fireplace, Draco uncorked the bottle of liquor and poured it into a nearby crystal shot glass.

As he swirled the Firewhiskey in the glass, he could hear his mother chastising him for the way he had acted earlier –_ not_ like a gentleman. His _mother_ – hell, how glad he was to be away from her at the moment. Pursing his lips, he downed the entire shot glass and set it on the table beside him. Uncorking the bottle of Firewhiskey once more, Draco leaned the opening against the shot glass and poured the clear liquid into it. He emptied the glass once more, tipping his head back so that his blonde hair fell around him.

Belle. What was it about her? He didn't know. Heaven forbid that he should find a Muggle woman, not even a Muggle witch – and a French one no less – the least bit attractive. His father would sooner kill all the pure-bloods than permit that, and even his mother had repeatedly said since his graduation from Hogwarts that he should date a 'respectable young pure-blood.' Belle and him… They were too different. _Damn_ different. Draco emptied the shot glass a third… a fourth, a fifth time, and after setting it on the table, slumped on the leather couch where he sat. Blinking slowly, the flames shifted and bathed the room with a dim golden light, growing dimmer and dimmer. Draco's eyes closed, and within moments, a passerby could hear light snores that they might have mistaken for the rain still pattering on the roof.

HP*BATB*HP*BATB*HP*BATB

Bong! Draco squeezed his eyes together and compressed his body further, pulling his knees into his chest, rumpling his robes. Again the noise sounded, and with a groan, Draco covered his ears. If he heard the noise again, Draco suspected his temples would begin throbbing.

"Master! Master! Batty is asking you to wake up, sir! The girl is awake and is wanting to go home! Batty promises to burn her fingers for bothering you, sir. Please wake up."

In response, Draco groaned and rolled over, his face against the leather back of the couch. "Can't you just apparate her home, Batty?" His hangover had begun to set in, and Batty's urgency rolled over his brain, grinding at his skull.

Batty paused, the two pans she had in her hands dropping down to her sides. "Batty could, sir, but Batty was thinking that maybe if sir took the girl home, last night might be forgiven."

"What?" Draco mumbled, pushing himself to a sitting position, fumbling in his hung-over state. "What do you mean?"

Batty had begun wringing her hands, the pans forgotten, sitting next to her on the floor. "Well, sir," the elf said, "when Batty was showing Miss to her room, she looked hurt. And last night, sir, Batty was hearing her say your name and she sounded upset." Batty said this last bit in a whisper so that Draco had to lean forward to hear from his position on the couch.

With another groan, he stretched out his arms and legs, pulling himself to stand in front of the elf. "You think she's that upset?"

Batty nodded earnestly. "Batty is having been in love before, and Batty knows when someone you care about treats you badly…" Batty's eyes suddenly widened and she went over to the bookshelf, grabbed a thick volume, and proceeded to hit herself over the head with it. "Bad Batty! Bad Batty! Speaking about young Master Malfoy as though he were… Bad Batty! Bad Batty!"

"Batty, I order you to stop!"

The elf paused, the book held high over her head. "Yes, Master Malfoy?" she asked weakly.

Draco sank back into the couch and rubbed his hands across his eyes. "Your screeching is making my headache worse."

Batty dropped the fat volume onto the floor. "Sorry, sir. Batty will burn her toes later then."

Rubbing at his head, Draco waved a hand at his servant. "Whatever. Batty, I want you to tell Belle that I will personally escort her home to Potter's. Tell her again that I am very sorry for my behavior last night and that I will make it up to her."

Nodding, Batty prepared to disapparate.

"Batty!"

"Yes, Master Malfoy?" the elf said, pausing.

"While you're at it, grab me a hangover tonic. Everything's so bloody loud this morning."

"Yes, Master Malfoy," she replied, disappearing with a loud crack. Grabbing his head, Draco groaned again and shut his eyes.

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"Miss?"

Belle was sitting on the bed in her undergarments staring out the window. A torrent of rain continued to attack the house, so perhaps she would have to stay here. If that was the case, Belle thought with an inward groan, perhaps Monsieur Malfoy would acknowledge her presence for more than ten seconds.

"Miss?"

Startled from her thoughts, Belle began looking around the room for the voice.

"Oh, eet eez you, Batty," she said once she noticed the elf by her knees, holding a pale pink dress. Belle frowned – the dress she had been wearing yesterday was her customary blue and white one.

"Batty… zis eez not my dress."

The elf sighed. "Master Malfoy should deliver his own messages since poor Batty is not speaking French," she murmured before placing the dress on the bed next to Belle.

Taking a deep breath, Batty began slowly and clearly in her squeaky voice, "Miss, this is Mistress Malfoy's dress. She is not needing it anymore, so you may have it."

The young woman nodded in reply, and Batty hoped that meant she understood. Wringing her now empty hands and rocking back and forth, she prepared to deliver the next part of the message.

"Miss, Master Malfoy was telling me again that he is feeling sorry about last night. He wishes to escort you home today himself."

Belle stared at the creature with bat-like ears, her face impassive. "_Merci_, Batty, but I do not undair-stand. Do you speek French?"

With a sigh, the elf shook her head. "No, miss. Batty only speaks English, but Master Malfoy will see you shortly." A loud crack sounded; Belle looked around to see what the noise had come from, and she couldn't see Batty anymore.

"_C'est tout simplement parfait. ¿Maintenant que dois-je faire?_" Her eyes fell upon the light pink dress. Perhaps that was what Batty had told her to do.

Belle held the dress in her two hands, and the satin shimmered like water. She was admiring it when a knock came at the door. "'Oo eez zair?" she asked, letting the material slide once more through her hands.

"It's Dr—I mean, Monsieur Malfoy. _¿Puis-je entrer?_"

Her eyes widening, Belle quickly slipped the dress on. "_Dans un moment_."

Finishing the clasps was a bit of a struggle, but as soon as she thought she had the garment on correctly, Belle bounded to the door and opened it without ceremony. There, an amused, well-dressed, and clean-shaven Monsieur Malfoy stood, leaning against the door frame. Belle suddenly felt self-conscious about her own appearance, which she was sure was not so tidy.

"_Bonjour_, Monsieur Malfoy," Belle said, a bit breathless from her effort to hurry. "Eez zair some-zing zat I 'elp you weeth?"

Draco bit back a chuckle at Belle's horrendous pronunciation and grammar, and instead raised an eyebrow, maintaining an indifferent – or at most, polite – façade.

"_Oui, mademoiselle_," he said, switching the conversation to French, "I had hoped I could make amends for the discourteous way I treated you yesterday. Since there is still a torrential downpour outside, I thought perhaps it would be best if you remained here as my guest for the rest of the day – or longer if need be – and I will send word to Potter for you so that he need not worry. Once the rain has slowed, it would be my pleasure to personally escort you home."

Blinking in surprise, Belle felt her brows knit together in confusion. "_Excusez-moi, monsieur_, but I don't think I heard you correctly. You wish me to remain here, as your guest, when last night, you barely spoke with me or even wanted me to stay? I don't understand."

Draco couldn't help it: he winced at Belle's statement, and it didn't help that her voice had increased in volume as she spoke. He glanced at the mademoiselle to see her with her arms crossed, and her brown eyes glinting with anger and confusion. How warm and passionate she was, how different from him, the aloof and cold aristocrat! He unfolded his own arms and placed a hand gently on her elbow.

"Belle," he said, "I am truly sorry for the way I acted last night, and I want to make it up to you." He looked at her, begging her to meet his eyes; he had his wish, but she looked away almost immediately.

She was silent for a moment, and when she responded, her voice was devoid of any warmth; it was as cool as his had been last night. "_Très bien_," she said. "You can make your amends by teaching me English as long as I remain with you – and I am _not_ staying with Harry at the moment; I'm visiting Ron's brother and sister-in-law, Fleur and Bill Weasley."

Shaking her arm free of his grasp, she proceeded to shut the door, but Draco impulsively stuck his foot in the way before the door clicked shut. An annoyed Belle looked at him. "_Oui, monsieur?_ What else do you wish to say to me?" she asked, sarcasm lightly coating her words.

"Have breakfast with me this morning," he said, the first coherent sentence that entered his mind. He wiped his face of emotion. "And while you're here, you might as well call me Draco."

Surprised once again, Belle bit her lip. "Very well – I'll have breakfast with you this morning… Draco." With a small smile, she closed the door, and it clicked shut. Outside, in the hallway, Draco could feel the corners of his own lips turning up, and from within the bedroom, he could hear someone humming a gay little song.

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"This is a 'knife,'" Draco said, holding up the metal utensil, "and this is a 'fork.'" Using the fork and knife, he began cutting at the meat in front of him. Belle nodded slowly and followed suit.

"Zis eez a 'fork,' and zis eez a 'knife,'" she repeated before tearing the cut Canadian ham off the fork and chewing it. As they ate in silence, Draco thought back to earlier that morning. According to his promise, he had sent an owl to the Weasleys and to Potter, asking that they permit Belle to remain at the Malfoy summer home until the weather improved. He had since received a speedy note by owl, which while it contained a few choice swear-words from Ron, was on the whole rather civil. Draco had explained in his note that travelling by broomstick or apparition might disconcert Belle, and so, travelling on foot back to the Shell Cottage would be the best option. Harry and Fleur had agreed and gave their permission for Belle to remain at the Malfoy summer home until it stopped storming.

Still chewing thoughtfully, the wizard could feel a pair of eyes on him. Glancing up with a blank expression, he saw that Belle was looking at him, a faint blush on her cheeks.

"Zank you, Monsieur Malfoy. Zis eez.. 'ow you say… a lovely breakfast."

Taken aback, Draco covered his surprise with his condescending drawl. "You're welcome," he replied.

Belle's mouth was still open, as if she wanted to say something, so Draco raised his eyebrow and moved his head forward slightly, encouraging her to speak. When she didn't, he cleared his throat and asked, "Is there something else?"

Shooting him a grateful smile, Belle said, "Oui. I… 'ow you say… sorry? Eez zat it?"

Draco struggled to keep his face impassive. "What are you sorry for?"

"I was angry _avec vous_, zis… morning."

Though Draco was tempted to tell her that her apology was unnecessary, he merely replied with a curt nod and the two of them finished their meal in silence.

Once Batty began cleaning the dishes, Draco jerked his head forward, indicating that Belle should follow, and he began walking up the wide marble staircase to the second, third, fourth floor of the mansion. As they walked further and further, Belle's mouth opened wider and wider in surprise and awe.

"Zis eez _magnifique_," she said, trailing her fingers along the banister. "Your family eez reech, no?"

A wry smile crossed her companion's face. "We do well enough for ourselves."

"Zis eez your… 'ow you say… parents' 'ouse?"

Draco nodded. "The manor is in my parents' name. When they die, I shall inherit this 'house' and our manor in Wiltshire."

Belle paused on the step. "You 'ave two 'ouses?"

Sighing, Draco nodded again, trying not to snicker at Belle's disbelief. He still needed to tread on glass around her. As long as the weather was horrid, she would remain here, and if they disagreed at all, it would make for an uncomfortable living environment. While Draco was thinking this through, Belle continued to speak aloud.

"But 'oo needs two 'ouses? Why one no eez… _suffisante_? Een France, Père and I 'ave one 'ouse… one small 'ouse, and zat eez _suffisant_."

This time Draco paused on the step and looked at Belle, who was a few steps below him, and mentally prepared his counterargument. Noticing he had stopped, she hesitated too. "Why 'ave you stopped?"

Belle's hazel eyes seemed to see through him and his pure-blood bullshit, and for a moment, Draco swore she saw _him_ – not the prat he had been around her, not the asshole Potter thought he was, but _him_.

"What?" he asked, still looking into her warm eyes.

"I… 'ow you say… asked… why you stopped," she said, narrowing her eyes in confusion. "Why _'__ave_ you stopped?"

Draco tore his gaze away from Belle and began climbing the stairs again, his posture stiffening. "I don't remember."

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When they finally reached the landing of the fourth floor, Draco tapped Belle on the shoulder. "This way," he drawled, pointing to his left.

Silently, Belle followed. "Where are we going?" she asked after a bit, as the hallway grew darker and gloomier, absent from the presence of any windows. She began to tail Draco a little more closely, even bumping into him.

"It's a surprise," said Draco coolly as he continued to lead her through the house. Belle remained silent, after that, and Draco regretted acting so coldly toward her.

Finally, after about ten minutes, Draco faced the girl. "Close your eyes," he ordered, switching to French.

Belle looked suspicious. "Why?" she challenged.

"So this doesn't ruin the surprise."

She raised an eyebrow but complied. Holding out her hands so that he could lead her, she looked a little condescending, even with her eyes shut. Draco gently grabbed her wrists and led her toward the edge of the room where two French doors stood, filtering in a large amount of light.

"Wait here a minute," he said. Belle did so, placing her arms at her sides. Waving his wand, the doors opened and again grabbing Belle's wrists, Draco led her out onto a stone terrace then released her. "Open your eyes," he said. She did so and gasped.

Below her were beautiful, lush gardens, and white peacocks dotted the landscape. Even from here, Belle could see that gorgeous flowers were beginning to bloom, and hedges formed a maze down below. "It's gorgeous," she said in French, turning to Draco.

The rain had begun to lighten up, but Belle could feel the dress dampen as they stood out on the terrace in silence. "Perhaps we should go inside," she said finally, touching his elbow. Draco turned to her and saw her damp hair curling around her face, and without a second thought, lifted his hand to her face and pushed back the locks of her hair.

He looked at her, and Belle could feel her face flush under the intensity of his gaze.

"Ladies first," he said, gesturing with his arm.

Nodding, Belle smiled at him, and then swept past him inside. Once they were both in the warm darkness of the manor, Draco shut the doors behind them. "You're welcome to come up here any time you like," he said, as he locked the French doors. "All I ask, is that while you're here, you remain away from the West Wing of the manor."

Belle's face turned up quickly. "What's in the West Wing?" she asked.

"It's forbidden," Draco snapped. He didn't want to explain what was there—it might frighten her. But as he saw an angry flush come to Belle's cheeks, he realized he should have answered differently.

"Very well, monsieur," she said coldly, "I will return to my room in that case."

And as she walked away from him, Draco felt his temper rise, but he bit his tongue until he could see her no more. Once Belle was out of sight, Draco hissed, "Batty!" With a loud crack, a confused house-elf stood in front of him, holding a bowl and a rag.

"Master was calling for Batty?" she squeaked.

"Yes," Draco said, shutting his eyes. He pinched his nose as tried to let his frustration subside. "Yes, Batty. I would like you to attend Mademoiselle Belle this afternoon and inform her that dinner will be served promptly at seven o'clock this evening."

Nodding, the elf disapparated, and alone, Draco leaned against the wall, his chest aching in an unfamiliar way. The storm could not end soon enough.

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I did all my translations on Google Translator as I do not speak French. I apologize for any French grammatical errors in this or any other chapter that I should post.

_Je suis désolé_ = I am sorry

_Je suis désolé_ _de l'interruption mais je suis froid et humide et a perdu. __¿Puis-je s'il vous plait passer la nuit ici? = _I am sorry for the interruption but I am cold and wet and lost. May I please spend/pass the night here?

_mon amie = _my friend

_merci = _thank you

_C'est tout simplement parfait. ¿Maintenant que dois-je faire?_ = This is just perfect. Now what do I do?

_¿Puis-je entrer?_ = May I enter?

_Dans un moment_ = Just a moment/In a moment.

_Très bien_ = Very well.

_oui_ = yes

_avec vous_ = with you

_suffisant(e)_ = sufficient


	13. Cold and Driven to this Sad Conclusion

_A/N: Five months I've gone without an update, and I know that is WAY too long, so I apologize. As you have probably realized by now, my updates are very erratic. I wasn't happy with Chapter 12, and it took me multiple revisions to get it right, and that stilted this thirteenth chapter. I actually had most of it written before today, but I wanted to post the revised Chapter 12 first. _

_PLEASE RE-READ CHAPTER 12 (or at least its ending)! I changed it significantly, and that will affect your understanding of the future chapters that involve Belle and Draco. _

_Again, I apologize for my lack of an update, and I hope I can get another chapter up before school starts in September; just know that it might take another year or two before I do finish this story, but I firmly intend to see it to its completion. _

_Thank you so much for all your support, reviews, alerts, and 'favorites,' and I hope you enjoy the next installment of Hermione Granger and the Magic Mirror. As always, reviews and constructive criticism are deeply appreciated!_

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13. Cold and Driven to this Sad Conclusion

_This rose is the timekeeper of my curse – when the last petal drops on my coming birthday, the enchantment becomes permanent. _

With the gravel and dirt crunching beneath her feet, the long road stretched out before her, and nothing to occupy her mind, Hermione found that Adam's words kept repeating themselves, over and over in her head. He had one year to break the curse. She had one year to help him. One year before things could not be undone. She had to find Maurice, and soon, so that she could return to Adam and help him.

Oh, how foolish she had ever been to think she could live here in Belle's world! What had changed in history as a result of it? Hermione had read Muggle and magical books alike on the topic of time, and she had once owned a time-turner herself… she knew the horrible consequences of meddling in time, and here she was, doing it anyway!

Hermione sighed, blowing back her bangs and placed her hands in the pockets of her dress. She held onto her wand in case she needed it; granted, it was late morning, but the forest outside the Beast's castle was dismal as ever.

The young witch thought back to her departure from Adam's castle; after they'd strolled in the gardens some, he'd taken her back to the West Wing.

"I realized that you don't know where you're going to search for that man," he said gruffly as he lifted a silver object, glinting in the light the rose emitted. "This mirror will show you anything you ask it to… take it with you. It will help you on your journey."

Delicately, Hermione had lifted the object from the Beast's paw. "Adam, are you sure you want me to take this?"

He smiled, then nodded. "I trust you'll be back… you can return it then." And Hermione had hugged him, tightly, taking the mirror to her room with her as she retired for the evening. She'd tucked it away in her knapsack then fallen asleep. Then, this morning, she had eaten breakfast with Adam, said her goodbyes to him and the castle's staff and had set off.

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Hermione continued to trek along the road the entire day, pausing to eat some bread from her knapsack when she grew hungry. After what seemed like hours, the trees began to thin, and she could see some sparse sunlight. A path emerged with wheel tracks, and Hermione even saw a battered wooden sign indicating it was five miles to the next town. Five miles – she could walk that before sunset.

As she continued walking, Hermione couldn't help but imagine Adam, alone within the castle. Upon her departure, she had heard a loud roar filled with despair. She would return. She _had_ to.

Hermione's thoughts then travelled to her friends at home – Harry, Ron, Ginny – and she wondered how they were. How was Belle? Were they taking good care of her? How was Ron? Granted, they'd only been on a couple dates, but she'd had feelings for him since she'd been thirteen… even though they argued and seemed to get on each other's nerves, Hermione cared about Ron deeply. And, she noted wryly, it was in a way that she had never cared for Harry, despite the fact that they were brilliant friends. No, she just needed time to get over her latest anger with Ron, and this visit to France had done that.

How though, would a marriage ever work between them? Ron was so hot-headed, and while Hermione balanced him out since she was practical and rational, it was so difficult to stay calm and collected around him sometimes. Often, he brought out her temper.

Not that marriage was anywhere near on the horizon at this point… but, still, she had to consider it if she thought about pursuing a serious relationship with him. She didn't want to marry someone who she'd end up yelling at every day because he irritated the bloody hell out of her for some reason – and she and Ron had yet to develop good communication skills when they got into arguments. It was something she was willing to work on with him, but sometimes she wondered if he felt the same. Would he be willing to improve himself so that a relationship between them would be possible?

Daylight was beginning to fade, but she had reached the edge of the forest, and the path broadened ahead of her. Hermione readjusted her knapsack and continued forward, relieved when she saw lights ahead of her.

"I'm coming, Maurice," she whispered, and she began walking more quickly.

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Once she had reached the hamlet – Lezoux – she began searching for an inn. "_Bonsoir_," she greeted the people, "do you know of a place I can stay for the night?" The first person she came across who responded pointed her toward a shabby little place that said "Hôtel de Lezoux." Darkness continued to encroach, so with a sigh, Hermione entered the inn, pushing the heavy oak door open.

A little foyer greeted her with a small table; at this table sat a handsome middle-aged man with piercing blue eyes.

"Bonsoir," Hermione said, walking up to the table. "I'd like a room for the night if you have vacancies."

The man looked up sharply. "Do you have any money?" he asked with a frown. Subtly, Hermione pulled out her wand and murmured a summoning charm. No money came to her hand.

"Je suis désole," Hermione said, shaking her head. "I don't have any money with me. I had hoped to work while I'm here to pay for my room."

"No money. No room," the man said, returning to a stack of papers in front of him

"No, please… I'm here looking for my uncle, Maurice. He's about so tall," Hermione held out a hand at the height of her shoulders, "and he has white hair. Have you seen him?"

The man sighed. "No, I haven't. I'm sorry." Frowning again, the man peered at Hermione. "Where is your husband? Are you travelling alone?"

With a nod, Hermione replied, "Well, I don't have a husband, so yes, I'm here by myself. I'm searching for my uncle. We were travelling together, but we became separated." It was true enough, she thought.

"Where are you headed?" he asked. "It's dangerous to be travelling alone as a woman."

"My guess is he's headed for Paris," Hermione said, ignoring his latter comment. "That's where I told him to meet me if he could travel that far."

"I see. Where are you travelling from?"

"Molyneux. I was lost in the forest for a while, and I was heading toward the next city on my way to Paris; maybe Maurice is there."

The man frowned. "You call your uncle by his Christian name?"

Damn. This would require quick thinking. "See, I've lived with him for a few years now, so we're closer than uncle and niece, really."

"Very well – Mademoiselle…?"

"Herm – Hermia."

The man smiled grimly, standing up from his desk, extending his hand. "My name is Jacques. I'll show you to your room."

"But sir!" Hermione protested, "You haven't let me pay for my room!" Jacques chuckled.

"As long as you promise to assist around the inn, you're welcome to stay as long as you would like. We almost never have all the rooms full at any given time, and if you're travelling alone to Paris, I'm not going to rob you of your few coins. My wife Marie will come for you early in the morning so that you can help with the breakfast time chores, so I suggest getting plenty of rest tonight."

Jacques had begun walking up the stairs, away from the lobby, and Hermione had to jog to catch up to him. "Thank you so much," she panted. "I truly appreciate this."

He looked at her over his spectacles, his graying eyebrows raised. "Well, I couldn't very well leave a woman travelling all by herself out in the streets. I am a Christian, Mademoiselle Hermia, even if I am a businessman."

With that he continued walking, his long legs forcing Hermione to practically run to stay even with him, and that was a difficult task, considering how steep the stairs were. At long last they finally reached the landing, and Jacques handed Hermione a key to the door and wished her goodnight before returning down the stairs.

As she heard his footsteps fade, Hermione shut the door, locked it, and began to undress. Her head hit the pillow and she fell asleep immediately, though she tossed and turned, thinking about Maurice.

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The next morning, just as the sun was rising, Hermione was jolted from her sleep by a loud banging on the door.

"It's time to get up, Little Miss Princess," a boisterous contralto yelled. "Did you think you were going to sleep in all day? I need help with the chores, and they said you have to help otherwise you get chucked out."

Groaning and holding her head, Hermione walked to the door and opened it. "What time is it?" she asked groggily, facing the source of her headache, a rotund and red-faced woman. Hermione wondered if this is what Harry's Aunt Marge looked like – he'd once described her as more man than woman. That description fit this woman perfectly.

"It's sun-up, girl, that's what time it is. Now get dressed all proper and we'll head downstairs and start preparing for breakfast." Clomping away, the woman muttered something about lazy good-for-nothings and not being able to pay a night's stay. Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled on one of Belle's dresses that she had packed for the journey. Placing her wand in the pocket, the young witch stepped downstairs where the round woman waited.

"I'm Madame Dubois – my husband said you met him last night at check-in?" The woman looked displeased about that fact.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I had the pleasure of meeting Jacques last night. It's nice to meet you finally, Madame."

Narrowing her eyes, the Madame's lip curled ever so slightly. "Follow me to the kitchens," she barked, and she began walking so quickly that – like last night – Hermione had to run to keep up.

Madame Dubois led her down yet another flight of stairs until they reached a small wooden door; the heavy woman pushed through the oak door unceremoniously and Hermione slid in so that the door wouldn't swing in her face. Having dodged one potential danger, the young witch examined her surroundings.

Pots clanged as women scrubbed them and dirty fumes of cleaning baked-on food contrasted with the sweet smell of freshly baking pastries. Hermione felt her stomach rumble, and she was suddenly reminded of how little she had eaten yesterday.

"Well," Madame Dubois barked, "Don't just stand around! Do something and be useful!" With a shove, the older woman pushed Hermione toward a girl with sallow skin and small, listless eyes who was peeling carrots.

"Sophie, this one's here to help you. Those carrots better be peeled and sliced by mid-morning!" the madam shouted. "If they're not, God help you!" Storming off, she left the two girls with a large pot of unpeeled carrots.

"Dig in," the girl said, offering a peeler and a carrot. Sighing, Hermione began to work.

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Hours later climbing the stairs to her room, Hermione stretched her fingers and hands. It was late afternoon, and although she didn't wish to stay another night because it would mean having to work for Madame Dubois again tomorrow, she had no energy to travel. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if Jacques had agreed to this, knowing she would remain here more than a night.

Undressing, Hermione rummaged through her knapsack until her hands felt the mirror that Adam had given her. Thoughtfully, she pulled it from the bag and murmured, "Show me Belle."

A bright light emitted from the mirror, and a second later, it showed a young woman in a pink dress, her wavy hair down, lying on a luxurious bed. She looked frustrated and upset, but what upset Hermione more than anything else was the fact that she didn't know Belle's surroundings; it certainly wasn't Grimmauld Place, it wasn't the Shell Cottage, and it certainly wasn't the Burrow. So, where the hell _was _Belle? Hermione puckered her lips; more importantly, why wasn't she with Harry and Ron?

The image soon faded, and Hermione flopped onto her own bed, the mirror against her chest. At least Belle looked relatively safe, and she was alive. "Show me Maurice," she said, raising her head off the bed.

Again the mirror glowed before showing a white-haired man walking through crowded streets in an attempt not to be trampled. Behind him, she saw a massive building—the Notre Dame Cathedral! Maurice was in Paris! And since Hermione had been to Paris before, she had toured the Notre Dame de Paris—certainly she could apparate there?

As the light from the mirror faded, Hermione again dressed, re-laced her boots, and grabbed her things, shoving the mirror in her knapsack. She clomped down the stairs to find Jacques sitting at the front desk.

"Yes, mademoiselle? Is there something I can help you with?" he asked, not even looking up from his bookkeeping.

"I would like to check-out. I no longer require housing in Lezoux," Hermione said.

Finally, the man looked up. "Very well. My wife will be sad to lose you in the kitchen, though, I must admit. She said she never saw carrots get peeled more quickly." He smiled at her.

Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot. Toward the end, she had used a bit of magic to make things go faster—but of course, she couldn't tell Jacques that.

"Well, yes… anyhow," he said, seeing Hermione's discomfort, "it was a pleasure having you stay here with us, Mademoiselle Hermia. I wish you luck finding your uncle."

"Thank you. I'm relatively sure he's in Paris, so I'll need all the luck I can get—Paris is a big city after all," she said, chuckling humorlessly, before glancing outside. "Well, monsieur, I must be off before all the daylight fades. Thank you again for your hospitality."

With a final smile and wave, Hermione left the inn, and walked to the edge of the town—near where the forest began and disapparated, her focus on the looming Parisian cathedral. In fact, she was so focused on her destination that she failed to notice a hulking form in the early evening shadows. The man, riding a tall black stallion, exited the forest and urged his horse toward the spot where Hermione had stood only a moment earlier.

"That little wench didn't die?" the man murmured as he examined her footprints. "Well," he chuckled darkly, "I guess I'll just have to kill her myself." Riding into town, Gaston's black laugh filled the air, as a single lightning bolt crackled in the darkening sky.


	14. Then Somebody Bends, Unexpectedly

_A/N: Hello, again! My update was within a far more reasonable time frame this time (I can't promise that for the next chapter, sorry), but this chapter is also a bit on the short side (2,500 words). _

_Oh, and btw, as motivation to review this story, the first three people to review this chapter will receive a cameo appearance later on in this story. Please include your real name (first name only… or pseudonym… whatever floats your boat) when you submit your review, along with your age, gender, and description of your physical appearance. Thanks and enjoy reading!_

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14. Then Somebody Bends, Unexpectedly

That night at dinner, the air was thick with tension as the wind and rain continued to howl outside. Belle, at Draco's instruction, wore an emerald silk gown, and Draco wore his customary black dress robes. They sat in the formal dining room, each at an end of a long, oak table that in Belle's estimation, could easily seat fifty people. Sipping the soup in front of her, she tried not to glare at her host.

He had yelled at her, for no apparent reason. So, yes, she'd had the 'audacity' to ask what was in the West Wing, but she hadn't expected him to snap at her in reply. And every time she caught him looking at her, he would adjust his gaze to his food, or the table, or a nearby tapestry. It was as though he was ashamed of looking at her. What, Belle wondered, was so detestable about her appearance that he couldn't look at her? Finally, she set her spoon down with a clatter and broke the oppressive silence.

"Draco, this is ridiculous," Belle said finally, as she stood up, her hands on the table. "What are we doing?"

Her host looked at her, a sneer on his face. "We're eating, Belle," he replied in French, as he took another bite of soup. Belle waited for him to continue, but the silence settled on her once more.

Exhaling heavily, she grabbed her bowl of soup and spoon, and practically stomping, sat down immediately to Draco's right. He raised an eyebrow at her in annoyance.

"And pray what," he drawled, "do you think you are doing?"

Belle considered him a moment. "Eating," she said as she dipped her spoon back into her soup.

"Like hell you are," Draco muttered in English, knowing Belle couldn't hear him, and that she wouldn't understand him even if she could. He continued eating his soup in silence, but he could sense Belle's anger, just as he imagined she could sense his irritation. The quiet continued for another couple minutes before Batty arrived with the next course.

"Batty brings Caesar salad, Master Malfoy. Batty is hoping you enjoy it." With a little bow, Batty snapped her fingers and the plates settled down before them. Belle realized belatedly that her place settings were at the other end of the table.

"Batty," Draco said, bored, "Bring Miss Belle's things down here please since she clearly has _no_ intention of returning to her appropriate place."

As the elf caused the silverware to hover mid-air before settling in front of her, Belle looked over at Draco. "Well, you could at least ask her nicely."

"Who died and made you queen?" Draco retorted. "She's my servant and I'll treat her any damn way I want to."

"But she has feelings too!" Belle cried passionately, looking at him. "And you're just ignoring her until you need her—treating her as though she were dirt!"

Draco felt his back stiffen. "I'll have you know," he hissed, setting aside his napkin and leaning toward Belle, "that Batty is treated better here than in many other households, and you shouldn't criticize how I treat my servants!"

Glaring, Belle leaned further forward. "Well, that doesn't make your treatment of her any better."

They both glowered at each other for a moment, until Belle set aside her napkin as well and stood up. "Thank you for dinner, Monsieur Malfoy," she said, anger laced in her tone, "but I really should retire for the evening."

As Draco heard her fading footsteps across the stone floor, he sighed and raked a hand through his perfectly gelled white-blonde hair. Damn his pureblooded pride. "Batty," he called, "I'm no longer hungry. Take away the food."

"Yes, Master Malfoy," Batty said, cracking into appearance. "Is you needing anything else?"

"No… but… thank you, Batty."

Batty's bulbous eyes grew wide. "Master is thanking Batty?" Immediately she latched onto Draco's feet and began to sob tears, staining his robes with mucus and salty water. So this was his reward for appeasing Belle?

"Master is so gracious… so kind… Batty is never saying another bad word about Master Malfoy… Bad Batty, bad Batty!" At her admission, Batty had removed herself from Draco's robes and began beating her head against the wooden leg of the table. Draco tried to smooth the disgust from his features.

"Batty, please remove the food from the table—now. And," he said, looking at his now-stained robes, "clean my robes once you've cleaned up dinner. That is all." Standing up, Draco headed toward his room to change. If he was going to apologize to Belle, he needed to be clean, at the very least.

HP*BATB*HP*BATB*HP*BATB

Dinner had been disastrous.

Admittedly, Belle thought as she changed out of the silk gown and pulled the pins from her hair, she would have agitated Draco less had she kept her mouth shut—but really, he was so… so… infuriating! Making them sit miles apart at the table when it was just the two of them, so they couldn't even have a normal conversation, and then they way he treated that poor creature! She couldn't stand it.

As she pulled her hair into a ponytail with her blue ribbon and put on her customary blue and white dress, Belle sighed. Now that she wasn't eating dinner with Draco—despite her stomach's grumble—she might as well find something to occupy her time. She could go to the terrace… or out to the gardens… but if she was going outside, Monsieur Malfoy really should accompany her.

Well, he was currently downstairs, eating dinner—maybe now would be a good time for exploration…perhaps—and Belle rushed out of her room, closing the door behind her at the thought—she could find the West Wing and see what Draco was hiding.

She wandered around the manor for nearly an hour before she reached a wing on the third floor that looked promising—it was dark and gloomy, and Belle smelled something a touch dank. The sconces on the wall flickered casting eerie shadows, and she could taste the dust in the air.

This neglected corridor must be the West Wing.

At the end of the hall, one door stood open just a crack, and Belle approached it carefully, removing a candle from one of the sconces to light her way. Once she'd reached the end of the wing and the open door, she gently pushed it more ajar with her foot.

Only blackness greeted her.

Stepping into the room, Belle could feel her heartbeat quicken with adrenaline. Although her instincts told her to leave, the French woman's curiosity and stubbornness damned that option; she would see what was in the room, or die trying. And as Belle walked further into the room, she saw that it was larger than her bedroom and had tables every few feet; piled atop were objects. Reaching the first table, Belle brought the candle—which had now begun to melt onto her hand painfully—down to see the objects and what she saw horrified her.

Gruesome skeletons and black wooden crosses stained with blood and iron boxes with gargoyles perched on top glared up at her, but among all the hideous relics sat a beautiful opalescent necklace. Belle felt her breath catch as she saw the piece of jewelry: it was gorgeous. Her heart now pounding, she brushed the edge of her finger to the necklace, to feel the surface. Immediately, she felt a fiery pain race through her body. Dropping the candlestick, she tried to retreat—hitting a grandfather clock. It grinned at her mischievously before beginning to screech.

"_STOP IT! STOP IT!_" Stop the pain, stop the sound. Other horrid noises joined the mix, and Belle covered her ears. Her sight failed her, and she fell to the ground. "_STOP IT! STOP IT!_" she cried hysterically. The hideous voices only taunted her—louder, louder, louder—until she felt a strong pair of arms wrap around her and drag her from the room.

Then, as her vision had gone, so did her consciousness.

HP*BATB*HP*BATB*HP*BATB

When Draco had first reached Belle's room to find it empty, he'd frowned. He hadn't yet showed her much of the manor, so where could she have gone? He wandered around the East wings, looking for her on the third floor, when suddenly, he heard screaming.

He couldn't think of enough curse words to shout as he ran down the hall to the West Wing.

Finally reaching the end room—the door wide open, Draco saw Belle lying on the floor in a mad frenzy, screaming, covering her ears with her hands. A candle lay on the floor—the flame threatening to overtake the room—and Draco extinguished it quickly with his wand before picking the girl up, exiting the room, and locking the door magically. He then proceeded to walk to her room, walking faster when he saw she'd begun to convulse, despite having fainted.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking, Belle?" he demanded of the girl, angry, but more importantly concerned. He told her not to go to that wing, because he knew something like this would happen. Now, by the looks of it, she had touched a cursed object.

At last he reached the guest room, laid her on the bed, and tossed Floo powder into the fireplace, calling up St. Mungo's. A young, round-faced blonde witch smiled at him. Draco scowled.

"Hello," she chirped brightly, "and what can I do for you?"

"My guest wandered into a room full of dark magic, and she fainted and has been convulsing for the last couple minutes. I request that you send a Healer over immediately." Draco tried to keep his tone professional, but he could feel the frustration seep through. Damn.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the blonde woman said, a huge smile on her face, "we don't permit house calls. Perhaps you could bring your guest to the ward dedicated to curses so he or she could receive a full-body examination?"

Draco gritted his teeth in frustration. "She's a Muggle and I had rather hoped to avoid the fanfare so she wouldn't be frightened—and she could be dying, don't you care?" Maybe the pity card would work on this imbecile.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the Welcome Witch repeated, a grin still in place, "but we don't permit house calls. Perhaps you could bring your guest to the ward of Curses—"

"Fine," Draco hissed. "I'll bring her over and stop the Ministry from complaining about your policy on one condition—"

The girl had the good grace to look nervous. "Yes, sir?" she asked.

"This woman's not family of mine, but I am _not _to be separated from her. Pass that along to the Healers, and tell them to have a bed waiting for her. Thank you." With that, he pulled his head out of the fire, hoisted Belle into his arms and practically ran back to the fireplace, tossing Floo powder into it unceremoniously.

A moment later, Draco arrived in a crowded room, facing the blonde witch, who just looked at him, smacking her Muggle gum.

"Excuse me," he said coldly, "but where do I go?"

"Cursed artifact? Straight ahead into that ward," she said, pointing. "I called the Healers right before you came. They should have an available bed." With that, still smacking her gum, the Welcome Witch picked up a Muggle romance novel titled _One Passionate Night in Venice _and resumed reading. Gritting his teeth, Draco hurried to the swinging doors the witch had indicated, only to find utter chaos—shivering, broken, vomiting people in the waiting room, and a few brats running around screaming at the top of their lungs. Fortunately, a receptionist sat at a desk toward the front of the room, not smacking gum or reading low-quality literature; instead, she looked up with concern when she saw that Belle had gone into a seizure. She stood up immediately and rushed over to him.

"You must be Mr. Malfoy. Belinda at the front desk said there was a cursed artifact. Follow me." Dashing down a hallway behind her desk, she stopped a woman wearing simple white robes.

"Healer Berkery!" the receptionist said, "We have an urgent situation—victim to a cursed artifact. She needs immediate attention." The man in the robes saw Belle in Draco's arms, and his eyes widened. He murmured '_Levicorpus!_' and '_Mobilicorpus!_' so that Draco found his arms empty. Belle floated to the first open room, and the Healer laid her on the bed neatly, immediately muttering spells.

"How long ago did she touch the artifact?" he demanded. "She's in bad shape."

"Ten minutes ago at most." Draco looked at Belle, then averted his eyes quickly. She'd begun to foam at the mouth, and her eyes were rolling in the back of her head. He felt sick to his stomach.

"_Sonorus_," the Healer muttered, pointing to his throat. "I need four Healers in here, stat. Experienced in Dark Arts and charm work. _NOW_!" Then he bent back over Belle, still muttering and waving his wand. Within seconds, the other Healers had apparated into the room, and pushed Draco out of the way, measuring potions and casting spells. Knowing he'd be more helpful in the hallway, Draco stepped outside Belle's room and conjured himself a chair.

All he could do was wait.

It felt like it was hours before a Healer at last exited the room, closing the door behind him. He stared at Draco, and the blonde-haired wizard looked away, staring at the tiled floor.

"She'll be all right, you know," the man said, now looking at Draco kindly. "She's tough. She's still in critical condition, but she's stabilized at least."

Draco could feel his heart beating quickly. "Will she make a full recovery?"

The Healer shifted nervously. "Now, that… I don't know. She's still unconscious, but her body has stopped seizing. A curse as nasty as that one might have done some permanent brain damage, especially considering it was in her system for a good ten minutes."

"There must be something you can do!" he retorted, standing up. "I don't care about the cost—whatever it is, I'll pay it. Just make sure she has all the attention she needs so that she can recover."

Sighing, the Healer shook his head. "We've done all we can do for the time being. We stopped the curse from spreading, identified it, and cast some powerful charms to assist with the pain and the symptoms. Right now, she's drinking a potion that should help as well."

"Why not reverse the curse?" Malfoy spat, glaring at the man. "Surely you simple-minded fools can do that?"

The Healer's blue eyes flashed before he composed himself. "The curse was very dark magic, and while the curse itself is hardly known, the counter-curse is even less widely known. So, sir," the man added icily, "unless you would like to perform the unknown spell yourself, that's all we can do for the time being. Once she comes out of her coma, we can tell how much damage the curse caused. For now, we wait." And his robes billowing behind him, the Healer stalked off, leaving Draco alone in the ward hallway, his eyes shut, cursing the entire Wizarding world under his breath, praying to a God no wizard believed in that the girl in the room behind him would recover.


	15. When You Wish Upon a Star

_A/N: Hello, everyone! I'm so very sorry for the lack of update these past nine months. Truly, school has been crazy. I know that's no excuse for such a long update time, but I hope you can forgive me. _

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! The three cameo appearances will be Ridea, xoglowergrinox123, and Griffin Strycharske. I introduce the first cameo character here, but he/she will continue to be fleshed out in upcoming chapters; I intend for the next cameo to occur in the next chapter, which features Hermione as we return to France. I hope to post that in a couple weeks, but most definitely sometime this summer. _

_Just as a reminder, the last time we left Belle and Draco, Belle touched a cursed necklace and was thrown into a coma. In order for her to wake up, she needed someone to cast the countercurse. And that's where we pick up with this chapter._

* * *

15. When You Wish Upon a Star

In the hour of twilight, regrets and broken dreams glimmer and fade; the beauty of sunset can't last. This Draco learned, standing in one of St. Mungo's hallways, looking out of the numerous windows, as the sun sank beneath the horizon, feeling regret after regret.

He'd been in St. Mungo's for nearly a day, and Belle showed no signs of improvement. His hair sticking on end, Draco finally gathered enough of his wits to contact Potter and the Weasleys; they were her guardians after all. In reality, Draco had no claim over her. He knew that, of course—still he disliked standing in the hallway holding a lukewarm mug of tea while everyone else laid by her bedside, talking to her, praying for her.

The last rays of gold and bright orange disappeared, and Draco sighed, tipping some of the bitter tea into his mouth. He hoped Potter and the Weasleys left soon; he wanted to… what? Talk to a woman—no a girl, and a bloody French one at that—that couldn't hear him in the slightest? Was he going mad?

Exhaling angrily, Draco poured the rest of the tea down his throat and vanished the mug with a tense wave of his wand. Merlin, how he hated himself! Staring once again into the fading light, he remembered when Potter and the Weasleys had arrived only a few hours ago.

"Malfoy," the Weasel had said, gritting his teeth, "as soon as she gets out of St. Mungo's, I am hexing your arse into oblivion. You can make sure of that."

"'Onestly, Ronald," the pregnant blonde one had said, tipping her nose down at Draco, despite the fact that she stood a head shorter than him, "'E is not worth your time. Belle will recover, and zis one will go back to 'is pathetic life."

Then, stomping off to find Belle, and pulling a scar-faced man after her, Potter, Draco, and the Weasel stood in the hallway, glaring at each other.

"Look," Draco said, his fists balled at his side, "I'm not here to be your enemy, and I'm very sorry about what I caused. I told her to stay out of the West Wing for this reason, and she failed to listen to me. While I acknowledge that I should have ensured better wards were placed on that room, this isn't entirely my fault, nor do I appreciate being treated like it is."

"Well, that doesn't change much, Malfoy," Potter said coolly, with a brow raised. "Still, you got her here, and she's stable now, so I guess we can forget the rest of it for now."

"Forget it?" Ron said loudly, and Draco noticed—with glee—that Potter winced slightly. "Belle is unconscious because of some curse! It's all his fault—it happened in his house!"

"I'm standing right here," Draco replied icily. "Did you even hear what I just said, Weasley? Or are you deaf?"

"I'm sorry," he continued, just as loudly. "Harry, did you hear a Ferret speaking?"

"Ron," Potter said, "Malfoy is trying to be civil. Honestly, can't you do the same?"

Muttering to himself, Ron shot Harry a nasty look, and clomped down the hallway. Potter sighed, and followed his friend; Draco watched them both until they rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

That had been nearly three hours ago, and now, Draco had begun to pace, waiting for them to leave. He wanted to see Belle—suddenly he paused in his track along the hallway. His parents… had they tried to contact him? They thought he was at the vacation house. _Shit._ Pacing once more, he tossed the thought from his mind. Let his parents worry, or simply, in his father's case, go in a mad rage that he wasn't answering them. It would do them good—he was almost twenty years old now; he shouldn't have to report to his parents every minute of every day.

But Belle, would she recover? Weasley was right—this was entirely his fault—he just hadn't wanted to admit it. If Belle was handicapped in some way after this… Well, add one more sin to his plate.

But wait—Draco paused once again, what if he could find the counterspell? The Healer had said it was a rare countercurse, but so was the curse itself, and the Malfoy library contained volumes and volumes on curses. If he knew the curse that had hit Belle, perhaps he could find the countercurse.

Tearing off down the hallway, Draco had to stop to remember his dignity. Slowly, he walked, chin tilted up, toward Belle's room. Sure enough, Potter and Weasley were still there, though the blonde and Scarface had already left. Even as he entered the room, Draco could feel Weasley's eyes narrow on him.

"Sorry to bother you," Draco drawled, "but I need to find Belle's Healer."

Potter looked suspicious. "What for?" he asked. Draco refrained from rolling his eyes.

"To wish him Happy Birthday," Draco drawled. Potter and the Weasel stared at him. "Not really, _dear Merlin_ you two are thick! I need to ask him a question. Do you know where he went?"

Both of them glared at him, but Potter pointed down the hallway. "_She_ had another patient to attend to."

Inclining his head in a nod, Draco left the room, and dashed toward a person in white robes, holding a clipboard, tapping the Healer on the back. "Pardon me, sir," he began, "but are you Belle's Healer?"

The person spun around, and Draco realized it was a young woman with a round and pleasant face, dark features, and shoulder-length hair. She smiled, and her brown eyes lit up. "Couldn't tell I was female with my hat on? It happens all the time. These robes hide my girlish figure."

She chuckled, and Draco felt his lips pucker in annoyance. The woman coughed. "Anyway, yes, I am one of her Healers. She's a Muggle, right? Poor girl."

Draco flinched. "Yes, well, one of her other Healers told me that they identified the curse, but since the countercurse isn't widely known, they couldn't reverse it."

"Yes, well, that's correct," the woman said, looking up from her clipboard. "Why do you ask?"

Raising an eyebrow, Draco continued, "Well, my family has access to books that contain Dark Magic, so I might be able to find the countercurse."

The Healer bit her lip. "I'm thrilled that you're willing to search through books of Dark Magic to help, but we already have four Healers on the case, and if we can't even find it, I seriously doubt you'll be able to locate the countercurse on your own."

"Do you want her to die?"

"Of course not, but—"

"Then tell me the damn curse!" Draco said. "What do you have to lose?"

The Healer sighed. "It was the Bogsniglib Curse that we found in her bloodstream. It's one of the most deathly known to Wizardkind, but its complex wandwork makes it more conducive to insertion in magical objects than being used in duels."

"One of the most deadly?" Draco asked, wry.

"The Killing Curse," the Healer said, raising a brow. "Surely, you're familiar with it?"

"Unfortunately," Draco muttered.

"Well, then certainly you must know that—"

"Yes, I do," Draco interrupted, "and I thank you for your time, but I really must be going." Then, his robes flying behind him, Draco left for the Floo, grabbed a pinch of powder, and disappeared in a roar of green flames.

* * *

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That night he spent hours poring over the books in the library of the summer home. He had gone immediately to the section on the Dark Arts, and had gone to the 'curse' subsection, but as the candlelight dimmed, Draco admitted that he wasn't going to find information on the curse here. But maybe his father knew something about it.

It was nearly eleven o'clock, so Draco suspected his father would still be awake, perusing their accounts or signing some document or even just sitting in his study drinking Firewhiskey. So, Draco, grabbing a pinch of Floo powder, shouted 'Malfoy Manor' and stepped in the flames. He felt the familiar whirring sensation before he popped out at the other end, in his father's study, facing the man himself.

Lucius Malfoy hadn't changed too much since the Second Wizarding War. True, his face had a few more lines, and he leaned more heavily on his cane, but he still had just as much spite for Mudbloods and dislike for Harry Potter. Of course, he was less publicly vocal about his views now, now that he stayed out of society's light and kept to himself, but Draco knew his father still wished the Dark Lord had won the war. It was obvious every time he talked with him.

"Hello, Father," Draco said, with a short, stiff nod. "I hope you're well?"

Lucius flipped to the next page of his copy of _The Daily Prophet_. "What do you want, Draco?" he snapped. "Niceties don't suit you."

Draco stared at his father coldly. "Fine, then. I came from the summer home to see what you knew about the Bogsniglib curse."

His father set down his paper and raised a single eyebrow. "How _did_ you come across such dark magic in your line of work as an apothecary, Draco?"

Gritting his teeth, Draco glared at his father. "I don't have time for this, Father. If you don't intend to help me, just say so, and I'll search the libraries for the countercurse myself."

"Patience, Draco," his father said as he reached for an empty crystal tumbler sitting on the nearby table and began filling it with amber liquid. "Give me a moment, and I'll gladly—"

"I haven't got a moment, do you understand that?" Draco spat. "Belle is in a _coma_, Father. Each moment she goes without the countercurse makes it more likely she won't ever wake."

His father paused as he was pouring his scotch. "Who's Belle, Draco?"

Shite. He'd said too much. "No one of significance."

"Well, then," his father said, smiling cruelly, "it won't matter if she waits another hour or two before someone administers the Bobsniglib countercurse."

Draco inhaled deeply and glared at his father. "She's a love interest of Blaise's," he said after a moment, gritting his teeth. "She visited me at our summer home, asking me to talk to him for her, and she wandered to the West Wing and touched a cursed necklace. Blaise fancies her a lot, so I don't think he'd appreciate it if the next time he saw her, she was incapable of speech, or worse, a complete vegetable. Now, will you show me where I can find the bloody countercurse?"

His father raised a sardonic eyebrow. "And you also care for the girl." It was a statement, not a question. "Does Blaise know?"

"Father, the countercurse."

"Very well, Draco. Since you insist." His father reached for his silver and black walking stick and stood up from his chair, heading to the wall of books on his right. "This book contains the Bogsniglib countercurse—you should be able to find it in the Table of Contents."

Draco reached to grab the book from his father's outstretched hand, but his father still held the book tightly and moved it out of reach. "Father, I don't have time for these games. Hand me the book."

"I know you're lying about the girl," Lucius said quietly. "It's obvious that you care for her, and I know that if Blaise had any claim to her, he would be here himself, searching for the countercurse. This conclusion leads me to wonder why you would lie about her. And until you tell me, I will not give you this book."

Grinding his teeth, Draco glowered at his father. "She's a Muggle," he said coldly.

His father's look darkened. "Draco, I want you to end all contact with this girl. Should you go against me, I will write you out of the will. No son of mine will marry a Mudblood."

Draco stared at the ground for a moment before looking at the white-blonde-haired man before him. "Don't be ludicrous, Father. I don't intend to marry the girl. She's an annoyance and the only reason I didn't throw her out of the summer home was because she was practically unconscious with wet and cold." He snatched the book from his father's hand and stormed over to the fireplace. "I'll see you on Sunday for tea."

Then, grabbing a pinch of Floo Powder and tucking the book securely in his arms, Draco stepped into the grate. "St. Mungo's!" he shouted, and the green flames, engulfing him, transported him away.

* * *

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When Draco reappeared in the reception area, he hurried to Belle's ward, his robes fluttering behind him. He was sure his hair was a little disheveled from his trip through the fireplace and tried to smooth it down as he rounded the corner and, after checking that the hallway was clear, stepped into Belle's room. In the moonlight that filtered in through the window, he could see her chest rise and fall gently. She looked peaceful, just as though she were sleeping.

He approached the bed cautiously, sitting in the chair along its side, removed the book from underneath his arm and withdrew his wand. "_Lumos_," he murmured, and he flipped open the cover, and thumbed through the book until he saw the subsection: The Bogsniglib Curse.

The wandwork for the curse was complicated, involving a series of loops and twisted curlicues and embellishments, and the incantation appeared to be Welsh, not Latin, also making the spell more difficult. And, all it said regarding the countercurse was the following:

_In order to reverse the Bogsniglib Curse, one must reverse the incantation, adding the name of the one who has been affected by the curse—which must also be backwards. As such, to reverse the Bogsniglib Curse that affected a person named James, one would say, 'Nwh nyd y r'igoullana, Semaj,' while reversing the movements, beginning with wand motion number 16, pictured above._

Draco could feel his chest tighten—any false movement could endanger Belle further. He stood up from the chair, walked to the opposite side of the room and began practicing the incantation for the countercurse (Nwh nyd y r'igoullana, Elleb), then the wand movements. He had to try several times before he thought he had it passably right, then a few more before it was impeccable. The purple light that his wand should emit kept bursting out of his wand, so Draco felt confident. He once more returned to Belle's bedside, kneeling.

"Belle," he began in French, feeling rather mad, "I pray you'll pardon me. I should have placed better wards around the West Wing, and I shouldn't have…" He trailed off—talking to her like this wouldn't do any good. She looked so serene, but every second he delayed performing the countercurse was a second that she could be weakening, growing insane, dying. Draco brushed a small piece of hair from her face, and then stood up, his jaw set.

He readied his wand, pointing it directly at her torso. "_Nwh nyd y r'igoullana, Elleb!_" he shouted while performing the sixteen wand movements with crisp precision. A stream of bright violet light erupted from his wand, penetrating Belle's torso. It spread throughout her whole body before gently fading, and Draco closed his eyes inhaling deeply, his fists clenched at his side.

"Draco?"

It was a feeble whisper, but Draco felt his heart begin to thud in his chest. He opened his eyes to see that Belle, still lying in bed, her eyes half-open, was looking at him. Allowing the corners of his lips to turn slightly upward, Draco once again sat in the chair along her bedside. "Yes, Belle?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," she croaked. She lifted her hand and grimaced. Draco felt himself fold his lips together.

"You have no need to apologize," he said, switching the conversation to French. "I should have placed better wards around the West Wing—"

"You already said that, when I was asleep," she smiled. Then she shifted slightly, only to moan in pain.

"I'm going to get your Healer," Draco said, standing up. "She'll be able to administer a sleeping potion, and she should have some draughts for any pain you have."

"No, don't go," Belle said. "Stay—please?"

Sighing inwardly, Draco sat back down, glaring at her. "You need a potion that reduces pain. Yet you ask me to sit here, helpless, while you moan and grimace and grit your teeth."

"I don't want you to leave," she said. She slid toward the edge of the bed, toward Draco, only to hiss in pain a moment later, then groan.

"Can you just bloody well stay still for a single moment?" Draco asked hotly. "You're only hurting yourself more. You just woke up from a coma after having your nervous system attacked by dark magic, so please," he said, gritting his teeth, "_do not move_."

"Or what?" she challenged, her brown eyes hard. Sweat glistened on her forehead, and if it hadn't seemed so improprietous, he would have conjured a cloth and wiped it away.

"Or I'll leave to get the Healer, and she'll give you a sleeping potion," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm only humoring your request because I know it will do more harm than good if I leave you alone right now."

Belle smiled, but it looked more like a grimace. "I'll make sure I mind my manners, then." She shivered, wrapping her arms around her torso, and without thinking, Draco conjured a blanket and tossed it on top of the covers. "_Merci, monsieur_," she said, snuggling deeper underneath the bed linens.

Nodding, Draco put away his wand. It was bizarre to be in this dim room alone with her, with the silver moon as their only light. He looked back down at the girl, to find that she had closed her eyes and was breathing deeply, peacefully—she looked so young, and with her pale skin shimmering in the moonlight, she looked unearthly. Swallowing, Draco looked away. "Get some sleep, Belle."

He stood up to leave, lingering at her bedside for a few moments. This would be the last time he would see her—the last time he would see her _ever_. His father's words had been clear. Draco closed his eyes and let a wry smile cross his face as he leaned over the girl. "Goodbye," he breathed, kissing her gently on the lips for a mere second before swooping out of the room.

In her sleep, Belle twisted onto her side and sighed.


	16. Out There

_A/N: So, it's been awhile. Three months or four months, I believe? We do, however, have the second of three cameos here, so read on to find out which one of you appears!_

_Thanks for continuing with this fic even though it's been so long in-between updates. I promise I will finish this (I want to write the sequel after all!), and as I have renewed dedication to it (though we'll see how long that lasts), I hope I can finish it inside of a year._

_Without further adieu, please enjoy! And review! :)_

* * *

16. Out There

"Fresh hot bread! Pastries! Come and get your pastries!" a man shouted. Hermione passed him neatly, clutching her rucksack.

For nearly two days, she'd been running around Paris, trying to find Maurice. She knew he was here—he had to be here somewhere. She'd begun her search near the Notre Dame de Paris, since she had landed there after apparition, only to have two lewd men approach her in the alley. After Stunning them, she'd modified their memories, duplicated some of their coins, and hurried to a nearby inn to stay the night. Everyone that she'd asked hadn't seen the stocky old man, and Hermione's hope was beginning to flicker. She'd searched all of what would become downtown Paris yesterday, and so, at risk of drawing attention to herself, Hermione had sent another Patronus, asking Maurice to meet her at Le Fleur de Paris, an inn near the heart of the city. He still hadn't arrived a full day later, so during the day she kept searching for him, asking the locals if they had seen him. Hermione feared that in the last two days he had run into trouble.

At last, with a sigh, Hermione returned to Le Fleur de Paris and pushed open the door to the dimly lit alehouse attached to the inn, found a stool at the bar, and ordered a large mug.

"_Bonjour, mademoiselle_."

Sipping from her glass, Hermione twisted around on the stool to see a young man smiling at her, his dark blue eyes twinkling. "_Bonjour_," she replied, taking a drink from her glass.

"Are you new to the area? I don't think I've seen you here before," he said, grabbing his own pint and taking a swig from it.

"Yes," Hermione said. "I'm from Molyneux. I'm in Paris for the week, visiting my father. He was supposed to meet me here last night, but he never showed. I don't suppose you've seen him?"

The young man frowned, his brown hair flopping into his eyes. "What does he look like, mademoiselle?"

"Well, his name is Maurice, and he has white hair, kind brown eyes, and he's rather stocky. He's in his mid-sixties, and he's an inventor. Have you seen anyone around Paris that matches that description?"

Shaking his head, the man finished his pint. "No, it doesn't. My apologies, Mademoiselle...?

"Herm—Hermia. Mademoiselle Hermia." Hermione felt the corners of her mouth twitch up. "Do you have a name, monsieur?"

"Griffin," he said, a smile crinkling his eyes.

"I see. Well, thank you, Monsieur Griffin, but I really must be going. I should go look for my father." Downing the rest of her ale, Hermione placed the mug neatly on the counter, paid the bartender, and left the alehouse, climbing to her room, her rucksack clutched in her fist. Once she unlocked the door to her room using her wand (she didn't trust keys), she surveyed her room. The mirror that Adam had given her sat on the small, quilt-covered bed; a washstand stood in the corner, sandwiched between the wall and the bed, and the wall opposite the one with a door held a small grubby window, which looked out on the Parisian street below.

She wanted to find Maurice—find him, and then return to Adam's castle. She was a powerful witch; she could help him break the curse. And there was something about him, something tragic, but, at the same time, hopeful. She picked up the small oval-shaped mirror. "Show me Adam—please," she said.

A howling Beast with a ripped shirt and pants filled the glass—he was in the West Wing, clawing at the already-broken furniture and the remnants of his portrait. Hermione felt hot tears prickling her eyes and she laid the mirror face-down on the bed. He was in pain. Adam was in pain. She wished she could contact him somehow... her Patronus! Just as she'd sent one to Maurice, she could send one to him. The thought cheered her considerably.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" she cried, and a silver otter slithered out of her wand, waiting for the message she wished to relay. She sent it and turned back to the mirror. "Show me Maurice."

* * *

HP*BATB*HP*BATB*HP*BATB

They finally met up in a bar a short distance away from Le Fleur de Paris. Maurice was sitting at a table, drinking a tankard of ale, and Hermione stood next to the table, looking down at him. Her cloak concealed her face, so for a moment, Maurice didn't even notice her presence, absorbed completely in his ale.

"Maurice," Hermione said quietly. "It's me, Hermione." The man below her straightened up, and his eyes widened.

"Hermione?" he croaked. She pulled her hood down, and Maurice smiled. He stood up, embracing her. "I thought I might never see you again."

She gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry that it took me so long to find you, but now we can return to the prince's castle, and I can-"

"The prince's castle?" Maurice asked. "You mean in Versailles? Is that where you were?"

Hermione shook her head. "It was a castle near Molyneux, from the outside it appears abandoned, but it's under a heavy enchantment. The prince has been turned into... well, he calls himself 'Beast.' And his servants are... well, one's a teapot, and another's a candelabra." She chuckled. "And the tense head of household is a clock. Ironic, since he was so concerned about time before the curse."

Cracking a smile, Maurice then downed the rest of his ale before grabbing his rucksack. "Shall we go?"

"Yes," Hermione said. She bit her lip. "We could do side-along Apparition, but I'm not sure how it affects Muggles..." She glanced around. "I don't suppose you still have Philippe?"

"No," Maurice said, looking crestfallen. "I had to sell him about a few days ago. I was running low on food, and I couldn't ride him in the middle of Paris anyway."

Humming sympathetically, Hermione headed toward the door, pushing it open for Maurice. "Well, we'll find a coach then, and we'll travel back to Molyneux that way. We'll be there in less than a week. And then," she added with a smile, "we'll reunite you with Belle."

Maurice cheered considerably at that, practically skipping as they headed outside. "How I've missed Belle," he sighed, readjusting his rucksack. "It's been hard to spend these last couple weeks alone. She's always been there... my little reminder of Annabelle, her mother, and she always brings me such comfort and companionship."

They walked in silence for awhile after that, heading to the main Parisian square with all the inns. They reached Le Fleur de Paris, and walking through the alehouse to reach her room, Hermione saw Griffin. She smiled at him, and he waved enthusiastically back before turning back to face his friend, a handsome-looking bloke with blonde hair. Shaking her head, Hermione continued up to her room, Maurice following behind her, and unlocked the room, undoing the enchantments so that they could enter. Only a skilled witch or wizard would notice the presence of magic on sight, and it made her feel so much safer knowing that people wouldn't rifle through her room. She opened the door and immediately became business-like.

"Now, I imagine you'll want to bathe," she said to Maurice after closing and re-locking the door. She conjured a bathtub, water, and heated it. Then, transfiguring a towel into a screen, she gave Maurice his privacy, handing him the soap, another towel, and the water pitcher before she turned her back. She heard a splash into the tub. "Everything all right?" she asked.

"Yes," he gurgled back. More water splashed, and Hermione turned from the screen, sitting on the bed. Remembering the mirror she had saved from the cottage, she withdrew it from her rucksack, and after enlarging it, placed it on the floor experimentally. It showed the inside of Grimmauld, still, and it appeared much the same: grey and empty. But then again, this was the third floor, Hermione conceded.

"Maurice," she asked, "do you remember the mirror that was in Belle's room?" She heard a gurgle in response. "Was it always there?"

After another loud splash, she heard Maurice's heavy breathing. "Yes, as long as I remember. Belle and I moved to Molyneux shortly after her mother's death, but when we moved in, the mirror was already there. We tried to move it, but it wouldn't budge."

"It wouldn't have," Hermione said, tapping the mirror with her toe. It remained solid. "It was attached to the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm. It's a miracle I was able to remove it at all."

She heard another splash, and Maurice poked his head out from behind the screen. "You know, it's quite handy that you can make a tub appear out of thin air," he said. "Can you do the same for clean clothes?"

Hermione nodded, removing her hair ribbon. In a matter of moments, she'd transfigured it into a set of men's clothing, and using _Wingardium Leviosa_, caused it to levitate over toward Maurice. She was still dangling her feet over the mirror absently, as though it were water, and suddenly, she felt her toes dip downward, below the floor. She looked up to see the glass of the mirror rippling slightly, as though it were water, and her toes were indeed beneath the surface.

"Maurice!" she cried, pulling her toes back quickly. "Come here! I think I've discovered how to send you through the mirror!"

After a long moment, Maurice appeared, his eyes wide. "A way to send me through the mirror to be with Belle? Wouldn't it make more sense to fetch her and bring her here, and for you to go back to England?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I suppose," she said doubtfully. "I mean, I promised Adam I would return to help him lift the curse on the castle, and after that, I intend to return... but nothing's here for you anymore, Maurice. Your home has been destroyed, you've sold your horse, and if Gaston finds you... well, I'd rather not think about that. You'll be safe in England; Harry will see to that."

"All right then," he said. "Let's try it."

Hermione, using her wand, moved the mirror so that it was temporarily attached to the wall. "Close your eyes, Maurice, and pretend it's water, Maurice. You're walking through a waterfall."

The white-haired man walked forward stiffly, but he did as Hermione instructed. The glass of the mirror rippled as he passed through, and then suddenly, his back was visible through the mirror. He was on the other side. He was on the other side. It had worked!

Excitedly, Hermione ensured that all the wards around her room (including multiple locking enchantments) were in place before approaching the mirror and closing her eyes. She felt a slight tingle and then nothing. Opening her eyes, she realized she was in 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Harry! Ron!" she cried, clapping her hands together. Silence echoed back. She turned to look at Maurice, who only looked confused. "I don't know where they are," she said. "Maybe Fleur knows." After indicating that Maurice should follow her, Hermione dashed down the stairs toward the fireplace, tossed some Floo Powder in, and stuck her head through.

"Fleur? Bill?" she called. "Is anyone home?" She heard a shuffling of feet, and then she was facing the French, and very pregnant, witch.

"Hermione!" Fleur said, her eyes wide. "You're back! Oh, 'Arry will be so thrilled, and Ron, too!"

"Yes, that's actually why I'm calling," Hermione said impatiently. "Do you know where they are?"

Fleur looked guilty. "I imagine they are at St. Mungo's. Belle fell victim to a curse a few nights ago, and she's awake and cured now, but they're keeping 'er for observation. Ron and 'Arry 'ave been there all day, I think."

Hermione felt her heart stop. "She was cursed?"

"Yes, at the Malfoy summer home," Fleur said. "She was staying with us, but she was lost, and it was raining, and so 'e informed us that she would stay there until the weather improved. According to 'Arry, she touched a cursed necklace, and the doctors could do nothing. But then this morning, suddenly she was better. Weak still, but awake. And now they are seeing how much physical and mental damage the curse did while she was in a coma."

"Merlin's beard," Hermione breathed. "I... I can't..." She sighed. "Thanks for telling me, Fleur. I'll meet them at St. Mungo's then. I'm sure Maurice will want to see his daughter." Then withdrawing her head from the fire, she turned to glance at Maurice, who certainly looked anxious.

"Where are they?" he asked in French. "Where's Belle?"

"She's at the hospital," Hermione said, avoiding his gaze. "Oh, Maurice, I'm so sorry! We can Floo over there right now, if you'd like. She's awake, and I'm sure she'd be glad to see you."

Then, before Maurice could ask her any other questions, she put another pinch of the green powder into the fireplace. "All you have to do is step into the fireplace-no, the flames won't burn-and say 'St. Mungo's!' But do tuck in your elbows, otherwise you'll get horribly banged up."

With a nervous glance, the older man did as she said, and once the grate was clear, she followed, closing her eyes at the extreme sensation of vertigo.

* * *

HP*BATB*HP*BATB*HP*BATB

The waiting room was busy, as always, but Hermione and Maurice managed to get vague directions from the blonde receptionist at front. They made their way to the appropriate corridor, and then, from the hallway, Hermione could see an untidy mop of black hair, and a shaggy coppery one. She steered Maurice into the room and immediately launched herself into Harry's arms.

"My goodness I've missed you so!" she said, after hugging Harry, and latching herself onto Ron. She could feel his body stiffen, so she pulled away quickly and stared at the ground, chewing on her lip.

Her two friends were just looking at her, their mouths open. "How in the name of Merlin," Ron said, "did you get here?"

"The same way I left of course," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I came through the mirror. But, oh, Belle how are you? I hope I didn't wake you."

The brown-haired girl looked weak, but she smiled. "_Non_, I eez... fine, you say?"

"Belle?"

The girl's eyes widened as her father moved into view, and after she blinked, Hermione could see her large brown eyes were glistening. "Papa?"

He approached her bed, and leaning down enveloped her in a gentle hug. Hermione gave a pointed look at Harry and Ron (who were still slack-jawed) and the three of them left the room to give Belle and her father some privacy.

"Hermione," Harry said at last, breaking the silence. "You figured out how to use the mirror?"

She nodded, turning her gaze from Ron. He was pointedly avoiding looking at her. "It's simple, really," she said. "It's a matter of mind over matter; all you need to do is see the mirror for what it is, a portal, or something easily traversable, and you can cross through quite easily."

Harry looked thoughtful. "Well, that's good. When Belle's healed, she can go through the mirror with her father, and of course, you'll stay here. Everything's resolved, and everything will be normal again."

"It's not that simple though, is it?" Ron asked quietly, finally looking up at Hermione. "There's something you haven't told us, isn't there?"

Biting her lip, Hermione nodded. "I... well, I promised someone I would help them undo an enchantment of sorts. I don't know how long it will take, but I can't go back on my word, you understand that, don't you?" She knew without looking at Harry that he was shrugging in indifference, but when she looked up at Ron, the hurt was all too plain.

"So you're leaving again," he said roughly, staring at her reproachfully. "Well, go on then. We've been fine without you these past weeks, and we'll be fine without you now."

"Ron," Hermione said, feeling water prickling her eyes. "Ron, it isn't like that! I'll be back, it's just that I made him a promise!"

"Oh, it's a _him_, is it? Well, that's bloody fantastic, isn't it then? You're gone in some fairytale world for a few weeks and you fall in love. When's the wedding, 'Mione? Got that one planned out yet? Think we'll be invited, Harry? I'd sure love to meet this Prince Charming of hers."

The tears started falling. "Fine, then," she snapped. "I was going to invite you to come with me, but never mind that offer now." And with a silent apology to Harry, she stormed out of St. Mungo's and took the Floo, swallowing her sobs.

* * *

HP*BATB*HP*BATB*HP*BATB

She was back in 18th century France before she knew it, reducing the size of the mirror, packing her things, and preparing to leave the inn. After returning her key, she walked once again through the alehouse, and she felt a warm hand on her wrist. Turning, Hermione saw that it was Griffin, a smile on his face.

"Mademoiselle Hermia!" he said. "You're not checking out already, are you?"

A tight smile graced her lips. "_Oui_. I just handed in my key. I'm headed home... to Molyneux," she added quickly. "My father... well, he's well, and I really must be going. But it was good to see you again!" And pulling away, she dashed through the alehouse, found a dark and empty alley and Apparated back into the forest, just outside the gates.

It was darker than she remembered. She pulled out her wand, murmured "_Lumos_," and began walking through the dense forest, making her way up to the black iron gates. She tapped them with her wand and they sprang apart, creaking. A sense of foreboding prickled at the back of her neck, but she brushed it away, walking up the stone steps and knocking on the door.

Just like the gate, the door creaked open, revealing the dim interior of the front hall. Closing the door gently behind her, she lit her wand and crept around. At last she found a candelabra, lit it, and tucked her wand back into the pocket of her robes. She climbed up the stairs, heading to the West Wing; somehow, she knew Adam would be there. But when she reached the corridor, the dust was thick, and even with the candelabra, she could hardly see. She treaded carefully along the path and eventually reached the door at the end of the hall. It was open, the door nearly ripped from its hinges, and in the gloom, she could just make out a hulking figure standing at the far end of the room, gazing out the window. She entered, still stepping carefully. "Adam?" she called, trepidation in her voice.

The figure turned to face her, and as she continued to approach, she could see it was indeed him. His pants were tattered to rags, and his chest was bare of clothing. Hermione felt her cheeks warm and she looked down at the floor.

"Hermione?" he asked, incredulity in his voice. "I... I thought... I didn't think..."

"I promised you I would return," she said. "And I have. Maurice is staying with my friends in London, and now I'm here." She set the candelabra on the table, next to the glass dome containing the rose. "And I won't leave until the curse is broken. We'll find a way to break it, I just know it. Research never fails."

Somehow, her words seemed to upset Adam. "You won't find the answer in books," he growled. "I know how to break the curse, and it's not something you can reverse with your magic wand. It doesn't work that way."

"Then tell me what I can do!" she cried. "I can't just sit here, helpless, while your time runs out!"

"Just stay here," he said simply. And though Hermione wanted so badly to protest, saying that she ought to be doing _more_, she bit the inside of her cheek and nodded.

* * *

HP*BATB*HP*BATB*HP*BATB

The next few weeks passed quickly. Hermione enjoyed spending time with Adam, and it was nice to be away from Ron; whenever she thought of his comments, she still felt a wave of hurt. But Adam was so kind and gentle toward her, that she hardly thought about Ron at all.

Sometimes, for brief spells, she would wander over to Grimmauld Place to check in on Belle and Maurice, but they seemed to be adjusting well to living in modern England. Belle seemed a bit... listless, true, but Maurice was fascinated with magic, with all the modern Muggle inventions, and he was enjoying his lessons in English with Fleur. And Fleur was due in just three weeks' time. Hermione wished she could spend the majority of her time there, as this was an exciting time for her friends, but she was determined to help Adam break the curse. And despite his pessimism that his library would be useless, every night once he'd retired, and for an hour or two in the morning before he woke, she would peruse any book that seemed even the least bit relevant. So far she hadn't turned up anything, but she knew the information was out there, somewhere. It had to be.

During the day, Hermione and Adam did a variety of different things. Sometimes they would go to the garden and walk around, talking, and sometimes they would spend time in the library. Hermione would read aloud to Adam, and after she learned that he remembered very little from his primary education, she began re-teaching him how to read and write in French. He'd made incredible progress in the past weeks, and soon, she was sure he'd be able to read more than simple children's books. Then, of course, they would explore the castle, arm in arm, touring the dungeons or looking for secret passages. Hermione told him all about Hogwarts, about the trick stairs and the portraits that talked, and Adam told her what little he remembered of his parents, and his life before they had died.

"They were very kind," he was telling her one day, as they were walking in the ballroom. "My mother told me that treating people with respect was the most important thing you could do, and my father would say that in order to be respected, you needed to give respect... or at least the appearance of respect," Adam amended. Hermione looked at him in amusement.

"Your parents were very wise, it seems," she said, and she smiled at him. He smiled back at her, tentatively, and glanced away. Hermione frowned. Ever since she'd returned, Adam had been acting a bit strangely, but she had no idea why.

"They were, I think," he said. "Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth always speak well of them. Lumiere doesn't remember them much, as he joined the staff only a few months before they passed, but he's never had anything ill to say of them either."

They'd reached the end of the corridor, but they just stood there, Hermione with her arm lightly on Adam's, and she glanced up at him. He was looking at her, his sapphire eyes so intense, and she found herself breaking eye contact. Her stomach felt warm, as did the back of her neck. "Shall we go down to the gardens?" she asked, looking askance at him.

"In a moment," he said. "Hermione... do you... do you like it here?"

She looked at him once again, and she noticed he seemed nervous, as though something depended heavily on her answer. Blinking, she nodded. "Of course I do," she said. "It's very nice spending time with you, and Lumiere, and Cogsworth, and Mrs. Potts..."

"No," he insisted, shaking his head. "Do you like it here... do you like it here _with me?_"

_Oh_. Hermione suddenly felt very confused; even though Ron had insulted her more times than she cared to count, he was special to her. But then again, so was Adam. "I don't know," she said quietly, at last. "I do care about you, Adam. I care about you a lot, but I don't know in what way. I..." _Merlin_, this was hard. "I'm confused about what I feel."

He was pulling away, not looking at her. "I see," he said, his voice detached. "Well, you're welcome to leave then, if you see fit." And he walked down the stairs without another word. And Hermione, all alone in the corridor, slumped to the floor, burying her head in her lap.

* * *

HP*BATB*HP*BATB*HP*BATB

She was out there, somewhere. He knew that. Searching Lezoux had told him that; a young woman named Hermia had stopped at the one inn in the small town, and she'd arrived under unusual circumstances, claiming to be looking for her father, heading to Paris if she had to. Since then, he'd been riding his horse, Jean-Luc, in the direction of the large city. So far, only the innkeeper in Lezoux had been helpful, and so he spurred Jean-Luc on, hardly stopping to sleep, and eating the crusty bread and dried jerky in his saddlebags.

If someone had asked him why he was so obsessed with finding the girl, Gaston would have punched the poor soul in the face faster than he could shoot a buck with his rifle. He was not obsessed; he was intending to rid the world of a monstrosity, a witch that should have died weeks ago. He was doing Molyneux, and the rest of France, a favor! And he knew that when he came back to the tavern with the witch's head in his hand, the whole town would call him a hero, award him a golden plaque in front of the mayor (maybe even the king), and he'd be even _more_ popular with the ladies. It was too bad that Belle still hadn't returned, he mused. Since her cousin Hermione was a freak, he'd have to settle and propose to her. But then again, perhaps he would meet some enchanting girl in Paris, a girl who was beautiful above the rest, obedient, willing to serve him in every way imaginable. Gaston smiled at the thought.

Paris was large, Gaston realized once he arrived. And so, in order to get acquainted and in order to rest Jean-Luc, he stopped at a boisterous inn near the heart of Paris, Le Fleur de Paris. He paid the stablehand handsomely to look after his steed before walking into the alehouse and sitting himself down for a drink. A mousy, brown-haired kid was sitting next to him, staring. Well, Gaston preened, the kid had probably never seen someone so handsome before. Naturally, he couldn't help staring. And normally, he wouldn't talk with such a kid, but he was on a mission.

"Hey, kid!" Gaston barked. The young man turned to look at him, his eyes wide. Gaston grinned. Oh, the joys of being powerful.

"Yes?" he answered tentatively. "What do you want?"

"Was there a girl in here? Brown hair, slender, creamy white skin, looking for her father? Might have told you her name was Hermia?"

They boy shook his head quickly and he got up to leave. "Uh, no. There wasn't." But Gaston could sense his nervousness, and he knew he was lying. He grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

"Tell me the truth," he hissed in his ear. "When was she here? Where did she go?"

"Okay, fine! She was in here about three weeks ago, just for a couple days. She told me she'd found her father, and after visiting with him, she planned to return home to Molyneux. That's all I know, I swear!"

Gaston, hearing the innocence and panic in the man's voice, dropped him roughly on the floor. "She left for Molyneux, eh? Hmm." He stroked his chin. "She didn't say anything more specific?"

The kid shook his head, his eyes still wide with fear. "No, that's it." And then, he dashed away before Gaston could grab him again, out of the alehouse and out of sight. Gaston smirked as he watched him leave. He too left the alehouse, found his horse, bullied the stablehand into giving him his money back, and saddled Jean-Luc up once more. They wouldn't go far tonight, but he needed to head toward where that blasted wench was, and now. And he dug his heels into his horse's sweating sides and leaned into his black mane, cantering off into the night.


	17. If Only

_A/N:So, this chapter is shorter than the last one, but the update was faster! And now that I've finished outlining the rest of the story, I can say that there will be two more chapters (three if I decide to split the last one into two) and an epilogue._

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story, added it to their favorites or to their alerts, or added me to their favorites or alerts. Right now this story has 70 faves, 70 reviews, and over 100 alerts. However, I know I'm not hearing from all my readers, so if you haven't reviewed this story yet, please do so! I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter - good, bad, or otherwise.  
_

_Also, if you like this story, please add me to author alert; once I finish this story, there will be a sequel called A Courtly Romance. I already have the first 2.5 chapters written; lately it's been my break from working on this one. I also plan to upload a one-shot which occurs in-between the first and second stories; the working title is A Conversation Overheard._

_So, without further adieu... chapter 17.  
_

* * *

17. If Only

The next few days were unbearable for Adam. Hermione had remained in the castle, and based on the shadows that had begun to appear around her eyes, she wasn't sleeping much. Once she didn't show up for breakfast, and Adam retreated to the West Wing, roaring and scratching any remaining furniture. But then his anger turned to nervousness, and he padded around the castle.

He finally found her in the library, hunched over a pile of books, the side of her face sticking to a page, her brown curls splayed all over the table. He shook her gently with a paw. "Hermione, wake up."

Blinking a few times, the witch looked up wearily. "I fell asleep," she said, and then she noticed Adam was right in front of her and she stood up, knocking a book to the floor. "Oh, Adam! Please don't be angry! I know you said that it was useless searching the library, but I... I don't want you to give up."

Adam looked at the floor. "I'm not angry."

"But you are upset, aren't you?" Hermione asked, wringing her hands. "That's why I've been doing my research at night and early in the mornings, so that it wouldn't bother you, and I could still spend as much time with you as possible..."

Raising a paw, Adam silenced her. "Hermione, I'm not upset with you. I'm actually... quite touched," he said, mumbling the last two words. Hermione caught them, though, she smiled, clearly pleased.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're not angry!" she said, reaching forward to hug him around the waist. She let go too soon, though, and she bit her lip. "Did I miss breakfast?"

Adam laughed. "I'm sure we can find something for you in the kitchens." And extending his arm toward the girl-the beautiful, thoughtful, intelligent girl-Adam felt his heart glow as they left the library, walking together.

"I have to do something special for her," he was saying later that day as he paced the West Wing. "But what?"

"Well, there is the usual, Master," Cogsworth replied in his nasally British accent. "Flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep..."

Adam knocked that idea down with a glare. "Hermione isn't the type to like flowers or chocolates, and I doubt she'd be impressed by a false promise."

Lumiere hopped over, one of his arms raised in the air. "I know! She said she didn't know how she felt about you, _oui?_" Adam nodded. "Well, then, Master, we shall simply have to put her in a romantic mindset. Tonight we shall prepare a ball that will outdo all others, and you will confess your love for Hermione."

"I don't know if I can quite do that," the prince muttered. But seeing Lumiere's downcast face, he added, "But the ball sounds like a wonderful idea. It's nearly noon, though, will you have enough time to prepare everything for tonight?"

Cogsworth puffed out his chest. "As head of household, I have tremendous faith in my staff-"

"And as maître'd, I can assure you that tonight will go splendidly. We will have candlelight-"

"-and music-"

"-and a gorgeous, dinner with a full pig-"

"-and pastries as light as air-"

"-and an angelic choir, serenading you-"

"That's enough!" the prince roared. Lumiere and Cogsworth winced, and they stopped talking. "Thank you, and uh, sorry. But I get the idea; you don't need to compete with each other to try to impress me with what you have planned for tonight."

"Very well, Master," Cogsworth said, bowing. "I will go begin preparations immediately." And he dashed from the room, waddling down the corridor and out of sight.

Lumiere began to leave as well, hopping toward the entrance of the prince's room, but Adam stopped him, saying, "Lumiere, wait. I'd like you to stay for a moment, if you don't mind."

The candelabra stopped in his tracks. "_Oui, monsieur_. How can I be of service?"

Adam stared resolutely at the floor. "I need some advice."

"About what, Your Highness?"

Looking around the room, avoiding all eye contact with Lumiere, he muttered, "Women."

"Well, monsieur, I don't like to brag, but you're talking to the right person!" Lumiere said, waggling his eyebrows. "I have had my fair share of women."

Adam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, well, I was wondering about tonight," he said. "I... how do I tell Hermione that I love her?"

Lumiere gave him a sympathetic look. "It is always difficult because we always fear rejection, and you do not have to tell her _tonight_. Simply show her that you think the world of her. Treat her with respect, value her. I have seen the way she looks at you; she'll come around."

"Before the rose wilts?" Adam asked, gesturing to the glass jar. The majority of the petals were scattered around the base, and only a handful clung to the eternally green stem. "I don't have much time."

Lumiere glanced at the rose as well. "You have three weeks, _non?_ That will be your twenty-first birthday. And then the curse is permanent, or it is broken."

"May 6, 1739," Adam whispered, rubbing a paw over the glass jar. "The day I was born."

"You have time, Master. Three weeks is a long time; I once heard about a mermaid near the Caspian Sea and her prince who fell in love in three days' time." Lumiere chuckled. "Now _that_ is a brief courtship."

The prince tried to smile, but it was forced. He doubted the other prince had had the same disadvantages. He sighed. "I suppose I better bathe and dress for tonight. Please inform Hermione to be ready promptly at 7:00 this evening."

Lumiere left, nodding, and Adam stood in front of the windows, gazing out the dark glass.

* * *

HP*BATB*HP*BATB*HP*BATB

Later, Adam reflected, he had never known a more stressful afternoon; after bathing, he'd had his fur brushed until it shone, his teeth brushed and flossed until they gleamed, and the coat hanger had placed a royal blue bow in what should have been his hair. He was wearing an old outfit of his father's that Hermione had kindly enlarged using her magic: a blue tunic with gold embroidery and buttons and a pair of un-ripped black pants. Hermione had also, to his great relief, made a hole in the pants for his tail. And now he could feel it swishing agitatedly as he waited her arrival.

Tonight had to be perfect. If anything could put Hermione in the mood to think romantic thoughts, to feel love for him, it would be what he (or rather Lumiere, Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts) had in store for her. Adam dug his claws into the banister, just to hold onto something, when Hermione entered, resplendent in a golden gown. And for a moment, Adam forgot to breathe.

He forgot that he had a tail and horns and fangs, paws and fur and claws-he was a man, and she was a woman. She blushed at his wide grin, and ducked her chin down. "I think it's too much," she said. "Even for the Yule Ball, I didn't spend this much time getting ready."

The gown hugged her every curve, but still left Adam hungering to see more; the elbow-length gloves, dyed to match the dress, added a bit of elegance. Her hair was curled as it had been the first night, when they'd first had dinner, but it was pulled completely to the side, save for a couple tendrils which floated down right above her ears and framed her face like a halo.

"You look gorgeous," he said, and he meant it with every fiber of his being. Hermione's smile grew wider, and she reached for the crook of his elbow. He guided her down the stairs and to a corner of the room where a special banquet had been prepared.

All throughout dinner, Adam couldn't take his eyes off Hermione. He tried, so that she would feel more at ease, but she just looked so beautiful, so regal, so majestic. He could see her being a queen, his queen, and holding court, greeting dignitaries. The vision seemed so real; he just hoped it would come true.

* * *

HP*BATB*HP*BATB*HP*BATB

Hermione barely glanced up as she sipped her soup. She could feel Adam staring at her, and she just felt so self-conscious.

"Do I have something in my teeth?" she asked, grabbing her napkin.

He chuckled. "No, you don't."

"Oh." She replaced her napkin in her lap and fiddled with it for a few moments. Then, from the corners of the room, she began to hear a violin and a cello. "Do you want to dance? I'm not particularly hungry at the moment."

Hermione saw Adam gulp. "I don't know..."

"Dance with her!" Lumiere and Cogsworth hissed from the serving table where they were stationed. Biting the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from giggling, Hermione stood, walked over to Adam, and placed her hands in his, guiding him to the dance floor. Then, putting her arm on his, she began to dance a waltz. Slowly, Adam relaxed and he began leading her around the floor in time to the music.

"It's been awhile since I've done this," Adam said. "Not since I was a young boy."

"I think you're doing quite well." Hermione scooted a little bit away, realizing her chest was nearly touching his. She bit her lip and took a deep breath. "Adam?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Can we... can we stop for a moment? I feel a bit light-headed."

Adam immediately stopped, his eyes wide with concern. "Do you need to sit down? Mrs. Potts, bring us some water, please!" Then, ever so gently, he lifted her up and carried her back to the table.

"Better?" he asked as he set her down, leaning down toward her. Hermione smiled inwardly at his attentiveness.

"Much, thank you." Hermione accepted the glass of water that Mrs. Potts gave her, and she tried to calm down. She felt so confused, so flustered. "Adam, do you mind if we sit for a bit?"

He shook his head. "No. The truth is, I was getting a bit dizzy from dancing anyway. But why don't we go sit on the terrace instead? The fresh air would probably do you good."

Hermione nodded, finishing the glass of water before standing and walking with him out to the stone terrace. It looked out over all the gardens, and in the sky a full moon peered down at them. She glanced at Adam, and saw the silver light reflecting against his fur near his neck, and for a moment, she imagined it was his bare chest... his human chest.

She closed her eyes, remembering the painting. He'd been handsome, the prince. Young and arrogant and too childish in the photograph, but handsome nonetheless. "Adam," Hermione said as they sat down on a bench next to the railing, "how can I break the curse? There _has_ to be a way."

"I never said there wasn't," he murmured. "I just can't tell you what it is." He lifted a claw and ever so gently pushed back a tendril of her hair. "It's simple in theory, but in reality it's so complicated."

"Like Transfiguration," Hermione said, withdrawing her wand. She tore a few leaves from the nearby tree, waved her wand over them a few times, and then suddenly in her palm, she held two doves. They flew away, and she looked back at Adam. "I _am_ a powerful witch. I know I could break the curse if you'd only tell me how."

"I can't, Hermione," Adam whispered. "Just don't. Please don't."

She sighed and pocketed her wand. "Fine." Shivering, she scooted closer to him and leaned her head on his chest. "It's chilly out here, though."

They stayed like that, not speaking for several minutes. Eventually Adam wrapped his arms around her, and she burrowed even closer to him. So safe, so secure. And then Hermione felt her chin being tipped up. Adam held a single claw right under her jawbone and stared into her eyes.

"Hermione," he said, "I'd like to kiss you."

She could feel her eyes widen. "I... I don't think that's a very good idea," she breathed.

He frowned. "Why not?"

Biting her lip, she moved her head out of his reach. "Well, your... your fangs," she said, feeling embarrassed. "I... I don't want to get hurt."

"I see." Adam's eyes became stormy, and he pulled back. Hermione could feel her whole being screaming at her, so leaning forward carefully and slowly, she kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm so sorry, Adam," she said, tears in her eyes. "I know you tried so hard to make this night perfect; I heard Lumiere and Cogsworth talking about it in the kitchen. And I've ruined it."

"No, you haven't." He smiled. "Let's go back inside."

And as he escorted her back into the ballroom, Hermione closed her eyes, remembering the portrait of the prince on the wall. For a moment, she would pretend. If only he were a man, if only they could try, if only. She cursed Merlin for her luck and vowed that in whatever time remained, she would break the curse, with or without Adam's help.


End file.
